


Ashtore

by DixieDale



Category: Clan O'Donnell - Fandom, Garrison's Gorillas, Girl From Uncle, Hogan's Heroes, The Man from UNCLE
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Brief appearance by Garrison's Gorillas team, Multi-Crossover
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-12
Updated: 2018-05-12
Packaged: 2019-05-05 18:17:16
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 24,978
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14624325
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DixieDale/pseuds/DixieDale
Summary: When a mysterious part of April's past becomes a very real part of the present, she has to make some important decisions, decisions that will change not only her future but that of her partner and her friends at UNCLE.  Will she discover and claim her Ashtore, her treasure, with the noble assist from Clan O'Donnell, Peter Newkirk and Andrew Carter, and the team from Garrison's Gorillas?  Will claiming that treasure be worth giving up the life she knows now?





	1. Stories in the Night

It was after one of those unexplainable confrontations with the bizarre that April Dancer told Mark Slate the story of her distant family. She had never discussed them with her partner, never discussed them with anyone after that first disastrous conversation with her father when she was fourteen years old. Two things brought the whole story to her mind now. First, they had just almost died after encountering someone, something that should have been just legend. They both knew the only place that report would be going would be into Mr. Waverly's private file, where things of nightmare and things of wonder rested. And, since they were snowbound for the foreseeable future, they had been entertaining each other with tales of mystery and magic, legend and myth. There was food enough, and water, and a snug cabin, though less firewood than either of them would have liked, and only a tiny bit of lamp oil. At first they passed the time trying to turn the recent bizarre happenings into something that resembled a report that Mr. Waverly would accept. Doing that after what they had encountered wasn't easy. Finally, they scrapped the whole notion, and just went with "sorry, sir. Car went off the road in a snowstorm and we were stranded for a few days." Nothing happening here, nothing to see, pass along quietly, etc. 

With that pleasant little chore out of the way, they proceeded to reminisce over some of the more memorable cases they'd been on. When they finished up with the Fountain of Youth Affair, they did a segue onto the subject of treasure, and what constituted treasure. Baroness Blangstead, the principal villain in the Fountain of Youth Affair had so treasured her youth that she had gone to desperate means to preserve it; had gone further to use her methods to bribe, coerce, blackmail figures of power to further her studies, enabling her to preserve her youth and beauty. She had let everything else slip away in her pursuit, and in the end, that pursuit had ended with her youth and beauty being destroyed forever. Mark recounted a family legend involving an old castle, a dashing ghost (who from his description looked a lot like Mark), and a hidden treasure of jewels. They had discussed books concerning the search for treasure, and movies too, til the conversation dwindled. April was silent for a few minutes, until Mark said, "Luv, are you alright?" 

"Yes, just thinking about treasure and what it can mean to different people. Are you ready for a long story, Darling? There's either a lot to tell, or nothing; sometimes, I'm not quite sure which. I might ramble a bit too. It's a story of legends, a story of family, of magic, of faith, of treasure. I've never told you about my distant family, have I? I've never told anyone, discussed them with anyone after a really disastrous confrontation with my father when I was, oh, I must have been around fourteen. I'd been rummaging thru an old chest that had belonged to my grandfather, my mother's father. There was an old journal, writing barely legible it was so faded, but it fascinated me, drew me somehow, and I took it with me when I went back to boarding school. I spent most of the term deciphering it; I could read it now, at least the words, but I didn't understand most of it; it seemed like the ramblings of a wild imagination. 

"When I returned home at break, I showed it to my father, asking if he knew anything about it, and if he didn't, was there anyone left in my mother's family who might. He went into a rage, tearing it out of my hands, throwing it into the fireplace. He frightened me so, and I tried to run out of the room. He grabbed me by my arm and threw me into a chair, and then leaned over me yelling. "You are never to mention that filth again. You are never to speak of your mother's people. Do you understand me??" I nodded, quivering, he backed away, I ran to my bedroom and stayed there til morning. When I went down to breakfast, it was as if nothing had happened, except for the pile of ashes in the fireplace. He was as rigidly formal as always, as coldly disapproving of me as always, but nothing seemed left of the rage from the night before. We never spoke of it again, but I know he kept even closer track of me that year than he had before, making sure he knew where I was, who I met, who I spoke to, even what books I took from the library and what music I listened to. If it was meant to intimidate me, it only made me more determined to find out what he was trying to conceal. What my father didn't know, and what he never asked about, was that I'd made my own copy of the journal, and that was what I studied now."

Mark looked at her carefully, wondering if she was having him on, if this was the setup to a wild tale; it wouldn't be the first time, she'd caught him out the first couple of times, but he was more cautious now. Still, she seemed different tonight, more introspective than usual. And it was going to be a long night, just right for a long drawn out tale.

"Yes, Darling, this is true," she smiled at him, reading his mind, as well she should be able to after being partners for this long. "So settle back, and I'll tell you of my quest, my adventure."

**

"The journal spoke of a people, a culture that had existed so far in history that it predated many of what we consider our older countries. A culture that in some ways was similar to our own, but also could differ wildly in some basic concepts. Honor, loyalty, duty, vengeance were key phrases. Some of what I read seemed uncivilized, some seemed so much more civilized than my own world. Love seems to have been much more open; I kept thinking I was misreading my copy, misinterpreting, when I'd read a report by a woman speaking of her wife, or by a man speaking of his husband and his wife. No wonder my father was appalled; I'm not sure there IS anyone more straightlaced than he is." Mark nodded; he'd met her father, to their mutual dislike and dismay, and he had to agree with April. "They spoke of their women having Talent, that's with a Capital T, each individual having some talent, but not everyone having the same talent, and each having their talent in differing degrees. You can see why I was fascinated; it was a bit like reading early Andre Norton novels." He nodded his understanding; he was the one who had introduced her to that early science fiction and fantasy pioneer, and had been a bit surprised at her eager acceptance of the novels; maybe this story explained that reaction.

"I spent a good bit of my free time during my fifteenth year trying to track down the place names and family names from the journal. It was only in the middle of my sixteenth year that I had any success; I'd come across a name and a place - they matched a name and place from the journal. I wrote a letter, hoping against hope for a reply, not really expecting one. But, one day, there was an envelope at the post office box where I'd asked any reply to be directed; heaven help me if my father ever had any inkling what I had been doing! A letter, an invitation to meet - I replied. I was signed up for traveling with a group that summer, sort of an abbreviated grand tour, you might say. My contact, someone I knew only by a first name, arranged to have someone switch places with me." Responding to his look of incredulous horror, "Yes, I know, Mark; I could have disappeared and never been seen again, and I thought of that, briefly, but took the plunge anyway. I was totally obsessed."

"We arranged to meet in London, where it seems my contact and her family had been visiting her sister-in-law. That seemed such an ordinary occupation after all the mystery. I don't know what I was expecting, but it certainly wasn't what I found, a snug family group: a woman (my contact, Caeide, who turned out to be a distant cousin of sorts), two men she introduced as Peter and Andrew, and her children, James Andrew and Louisa Maude, maybe eight or ten years old. I traveled with them back to their home, let's just say, somewhere in Wales, in the middle of nowhere. Peter laughingly called it, 'beyond the beyond'. 

"I spent the whole summer with them; turns out Peter and Andrew were both her 'husbands', they also were, well, 'husbands' to each other; the children were claimed by them all. There were four other children at home, younger ones," she motioned with her hand at ever decreasing levels, "When I asked, with all the bluntness of a teenager, which was the father to each child, Peter and Andrew grinned, looked at each other, and said "We are!", not being in the least upset at the question, but not at all hesitant about the answer either. The boys, well, they were obvious, the older looking like a younger version of Peter, the other two like Andrew; the girls, though, they looked like their mother. Caeide smilingly concurred, "They are." Turns out they were three sets of twins, each set being a boy and a girl. The children called Peter 'Da', and Andrew, 'Daddy Andrew'. Oh, Mark, it was a different world for me," and Mark gave an incredulous, "I'd certainly think so, luv!", thinking again of her father and his razor's edge view of the world, narrow didn't even begin to cover it!, "and a link to the world I'd read about in the journal. Caeide said I was what they called a 'far-away sister', a member of the family who grew up outside the family, for whatever reason. She talked about the Talent, and I was disappointed that I was too far on the outskirt branches to have much, if any, but she told me she had a right, as my 'sponsor' to share a bit of hers. It was a whole ritual, just she and I, around a little table in her office, silver scrying bowl filled with water, a drop of her blood, a drop of my blood, a few drops of something from a tiny bottle - all very arcane. We each had a glass of wine, and she began.

***

"I've wondered since whether I'd been hypnotized; it was like we were all alone in the world, and all I could hear was her voice.  
She told me, "April, everyone, if they truly live, has something they treasure above all else, something they'd sacrifice for, something they'd kill for, something they'd die for, maybe more importantly, something they'd live for. When you realize there is one thing without which your life is meaningless, one thing you'd give up everything else to have, to keep safe, then you know what your heart's treasure, your Ashtore, is. For some it is wealth, beauty, youth, power, influence. For me, it is my family- Peter, Andrew, our children."

"This is my gift to you. I have foreseen, there will come a day when that which you treasure most, whatever that might come to be, is at great peril, facing certain destruction. On that day, inscribe these symbols upon your treasure, and we, the Clan, will do all within our power to secure your treasure, gather it in to sanctuary, guard it for you. Use your own moisture - blood, tears, whatever is available - to inscribe the symbols, and think, think hard, with all your being of the need for aid, knowing in your heart of hearts that you will be heard. Do not use this carelessly, for it can only be used once. Be sure that this is your only option, be sure that what you are asking in your heart is worth it, that the need is real." She showed me three symbols, made me memorize them so as to be able to remember them even if the world was falling apart, smiled and kissed me on the forehead."

Her voice had gotten soft and dreamy; when she looked over at Mark, he was looking at her as if she had lost her mind.

"I'm thinkin' they doctored your evening drink, Luv. Anything else strange 'appen?"

"No, I left in a few days, in time to switch back into the routine as if I'd just come back from the trip. The girl who had gone in my place had even left me photos, notes, souvenirs, all to point to my having been with the group. I've kept in casual contact with Caeide over these years, though we've never met in person again. I look at it all as my very own Magical Mystery Tour, just as confusing, but I've never forgotten those symbols either. Nor have I ever figured out what my heart's treasure is," she sighed.

"Come on, luv, get some sleep. Tomorrow's another fun-filled day of watching the snow come down, probably; something to look forward to." They curled up together under what covers they had, in front of the dying fire, and slept, at peace.


	2. Betrayal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When the faces of the enemy become all too familiar and April's world turns upside down.

April was breathing hard, repeating "Open Channel D, Open Channel D" yet again, though no answer had come for the past half hour. She and Mark were in a small cave opening onto a rock-filled ravine. She was filthy, her hair stringing around her shoulders, damp with things she'd prefer NOT to identify, and she clutched her gun and her communicator in the same hand, the other hand busy trying to staunch the blood flowing from the shoulder wound of her partner, Mark Slate. The wound wasn't that bad, not if he got help soon, but that wouldn't matter if their rescuers didn't get here quickly. The crazy leader of the Thrush Satrap they'd infiltrated was only a short distance behind them, and she and her co-leader were known for being particularly sadistic. She'd heard from the UNCLE team assigned to rendezvous with them; they should have been here by now, complete with transport out of here. Should they try to make a run for it? Mark was still able to move, though not quickly, she had the bleeding stopped for now; neither one of them wanted to wait around to be picked up by Thrush.

Davis and Mitchell were a fairly new UNCLE team, though not novices in the intelligence/espionage field. They had each transferred in from other groups, quickly found they understood each other quite well, and had partnered successfully. They wouldn't partner together forever, they had plans, but for now it suited them. They had eagerly accepted this assignment, the retrieval of the Dancer/Slate team, complete with the vital information they had been sent in to get. This assignment could be the first step in completing Part One of their overall plan, becoming Numbers 1 and 2 of the Enforcement unit; from there, just say, they intended to move upwards. 

They had been in position for extraction ever since the first calls had been made, but held back; it was imperative that it seemed like everything happened at the last minute. That was to be their cover story; 'there just wasn't time, we had to cut our losses and be satisfied with what was possible.'

Finally, Thrush was in sight, leaving them just 10 minutes to achieve their goal and get the heck out of there. Davis and Mitchell made their way into the cave, giving the recognition code in order to prevent getting shot. "Miss Dancer, Mr Slate. Did you get the information?" Mitchell asked urgently.

"Yes, here it is," Mark said, as he held up a small silver case. "I'll take that, thank you," said Mitchell as he stepped forward and jerked it out of Mark's hand.

"Come along, Miss Dancer, we need to hurry."

"Yes, alright. Mark will need help . . ." The quiet was broken by the shouts of Thrush agents, and the splats from their guns. Mark cried out as a shot hit home; April looked around in shock, there was no way that came from outside the cave! She realized with disbelief that Davis had been the only one with his gun trained in the right direction.

"Come on, Miss Dancer, there's no time!"

"No, we have to get Mark," as she twisted away.

"Too late for that, nothing can be done for him. Even if he's still alive, we aren't going to get out of here dragging him with us," Mitchell yelled angrily.

She had gotten free and dropped to Mark's side; yes, he'd been shot again, a graze along the side of his sandy blond head; he was struggling to remain conscious, but he'd understood the men well enough to know he wasn't going anywhere. He whispered, "Get out of here, April. Don't worry about me. I've gotten out of worse situations than this," his standard response to the sticky situations he had a tendency to fall into, all with a faint hint of that cheeky grin of his, but with knowledge of his own death in his eyes. "April, you have to go," as he looked over at Mitchell and Davis standing there with smug smiles on their faces, loading a dart into a tranquilizer gun. April looked at them as well, knowing she was being given no choice.

Time seemed to stand still, then. She could move, but Mark, Mitchell and Davis seemed frozen in space. She looked around, bewildered; then realized it was inside she needed to look to understand; it was inside she found her answer. How had she not known? Quickly she sliced the palm of her hand on a sharp rock, and with the index finger of the other, quickly used her own blood to inscribe the three symbols she'd learned so long ago onto Mark's bare forearm. She leaned forward, resting her head against his. "Faith," Caeide had said, "think hard, hard!". {"Please, please help him; I can lose everything else, but not him!"} 

Time started up again, she felt the sting of the tranquilizer dart, and fell forward into darkness. They grabbed her between them, and ran pellmell for the waiting helicopter. Unknown to her, they had darted Mark as well, so he couldn't interfere, so he was an easy capture when Thrush arrived.

 

.


	3. Rescue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wherein a long-ago promise is fulfilled, and the enemy feels the wrath of an outraged family.

.  
The Gathering-In call had pealed thru the Clan two hours after the midnight bell had rung out; a call for help from a Far-Away Sister, the location quickly pinned down by the scryer on duty. The need was urgent, critical; time was of the essence, the summons had made that clear; help had to come from the closest possible sources. Haven Farm in Wales and The Cottages, south of London, were the closest enclaves. All Clan members had the training and their personal weapons, plus each enclave had their own armory. Haven held two men who had fought together in the war in Europe. Caeide would accompany Peter and Andrew; their oldest children were twenty, trained for fighting as were all the Clan, but with the son also having some medical training, with the next lot being seventeen and fifteen. Since thirteen was considered a full adult, fourteen the age when they went into the field, they would be going along. The younger ones would remain behind.

The Cottages was the base camp for a full contingent of former fighters, known as Garrison's Gorillas. Not all of them were on site right now; they made their forays out into the world on their own affairs (not to be looked at too carefully, especially by the authorities), but three of them were there now, as well as Caeide's sister, Meghada, bonded to the slight Englishman of the group, Goniff, them both in turn bonded to the team's former leader, Craig Garrison. So from there, Meghada, Goniff, Casino, Chief. Add in two of the children, Randy and M'Coury, also of fighting age and one with medical training, and between the two enclaves, they could muster fifteen in total, enough for three battle choppers, not counting the three pilots. Most of the older men were probably in their fifties now, just Andrew and Chief a few years younger, but none of them had let themselves get soft, and their weapons training was up to date. Their women were younger by 12 or so years, and could still fight any of the young warriors at least to a draw. Yes, they could make this happen.

Within an hour of the Gathering-In call, the choppers had taken off from the staging area in Wales making their way to each of the Enclaves, meeting at the closest crossover point to proceed to the rescue location, ready to fulfill a promise made. Within that same hour, all the Clan members who would go on this rescue from both Enclaves had been summoned from their beds, dressed, got their battle packs (always kept furnished and ready), explosives, med kits, and other necessities, and snatched food from the kitchen to have a fast meal on the fly. Caeide thought it only fitting that she and her family, her sister and her family made up this rescue team, since it was she who had issued the promise in the first place, to the young girl who had come in search of answers those many years ago.

They hit the caves in the chill hours before dawn, a bare three hours since April had been dragged from the scene; they gave no warning, gave no quarter, there would be no one alive here when they were finished, especially after they got a long look at the one they'd come to rescue.

"Bloody amazing 'ow much you can 'urt someone in such a short time," Peter raged, remembering his own sessions at the hands of the Gestapo. The other adults agreed, having experienced some of that themselves, if sometimes under different hands.

"Some just seem to 'ave a natural talent for it, damn their ruddy souls!", the other Englishman, the still slender Goniff snarled. There was no hesitation on anyone's part, not the older adults nor the younger. Even the youngest understood honor, loyalty, duty to family and friends, vengeance. Caeide and the young ones with medical training took over the rushed emergency treatment needed, bundled the unconscious man into the stretcher and with the help of their cousins, rushed him to one of the choppers; he'd be flown directly to their closest full medical unit, while the rest would take care of the cleanup here. Once Andrew and Casino worked their magic with the explosives, there'd be nothing left here to tell this particularly sordid story. Mark Slate would reappear in the world only if and when he decided to. To all outside knowledge, he was no longer among the living.

In the first chopper, Caeide got a good look at the man on whose behalf her 'far-away sister' had taken the desperate chance to summon aid. Fair skinned, blond hair, thinner perhaps even than Peter had been when he was this man's age. Expressive mouth, though now swollen and torn. Blue eyes, though only a glimmer showed thru his barely open lids. Two gunshot wounds, bruises, cuts, whip marks, marks of electrical instruments, plus certain signs of sexual trauma, she kept cataloguing the injuries. None of this was new to her; Peter and Andrew had worn similar marks, and she'd attended her sister's crew enough to know they'd experienced much of this as well.

No, she had no regrets about the number of bodies left behind on the mountainside; if it had been possible to resurrect and kill them all a second time, she'd have gladly voted for that, she decided. But this was the best that could be done, and they'd all have to be satisfied with that. Well, and with giving this young man, Ashtore, heart's treasure, to young April, the best care they could provide, and try to help with however these two wanted to deal with the situation. Caeide had no information of what had happened; she'd be in contact with April as soon as feasible, to let her know the Ashtore had been gathered in, and to see what else needed to be done.  
.  
.


	4. The Plot

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> April learns the full extent of the plot.

April slowly regained consciousness in the rear of the helicopter, and listened to Mitchell and Davis as they gloated over the success of their plan. As she listened, she became aware of several things. 

One, obviously, Mitchell and Davis were totally insane. That was a given, considering their master plan. Eliminate Mark, bringing back April and the information. That left April without a partner. After a period of adjustment, they would put themselves forward as the ideal choices for her to select her new partner. (Never mind she'd seen them eliminate her old partner; they expected her to get over that quickly, realize either of them were a better deal, or they'd convince her she'd imagined it!). Since, according to them, she was Waverly's fairhaired child, along with Napoleon Solo, whichever one she selected would be in line for the choice assignments.

Eventually they intended to pull a similar trick to get rid of Ilya Kuryakin, leaving Napoleon in need of a new partner. Whichever one April had not chosen would become Napoleon's partner, also now getting plum assignments. Down the road, both April and Napoleon would bite the dust, leaving Mitchell and Davis to team up again, this time as Numbers 1 and 2; from there, onwards and upwards. Yes, totally insane. Totally dangerous. Also, totally dead if she had anything to say about it.

Two, they were not taking a direct route back to UNCLE; they were delaying enough to be sure there was no chance Mr Waverly would try to send in a rescue team for Mark, just in case April was able to convince the old man that Mark had still been alive. Lord knows she'd do anything to convince Waverly to send help, but she knew as well as anyone that after more than a day or two in the hands of the Delft Satrap, whose two leaders had the same sick propensities as Mother Fear and Miss Diketon, he was unlikely to survive, and probably would not wish to.

Three, as she had painted those symbols onto the body of her partner, she'd felt something, she didn't know what, but it had felt like an answer, a reply, somehow. Bitterly, she accepted that she could do nothing for Mark right now; nothing except bide her time, and keep focusing on the possibility that the gift had been real, that help had been sent, that what, that he whom she had at long last realized she treasured most would be gathered in to sanctuary. Maybe she was as crazy as Mitchell and Davis; maybe, she didn't care, if hope was all she had left, then she'd hope, and be damned..


	5. Hope Springs Anew

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Mark is declared dead, the reaction of many at UNCLE Headquarters is less than what April expected, and the rejection of her accusations against their betrayers is dismissed as the sign of an overly-stressed mind, April doesn't react well. But a phone call causes hope to rise again, and she prepares to make a huge leap of faith.

April pretended to be in a daze when the helicopter landed, wanting to reach UNCLE Headquarters and friendly faces before she made a move. Mitchell and Davis were convincing, and both were very solicitous. They made a point of telling the med team that she'd been hallucinating on the trip home, calling for her partner, thinking he was still alive, building a defense for when, if April made any accusations. Accusations, thought April, could wait til she talked to Waverly, found out if there was any hope for rescue.

Her hopes were dashed; by the time they reached Headquarters, the word had come down that the mountain had been destroyed in a huge explosion, no survivors. She sat thru her debriefing, coldly telling her story exactly as it happened, aside from leaving out what she'd heard from Mitchell and Davis, and of course, the part about trying to summon aid thru the Gift. That no one would believe, and it would only undermine her credibility. She was not emotional (not to the eye) when she told of their betrayal by Mitchell and Davis.

On their parts, both men expressed their deep concern at her obvious confusion, and their assurances that they had done everything possible to get Slate out, but that he had been fatally shot during the last minutes; that they had confirmed his death, but she had refused to accept the fact. Mr. Waverly was concerned, frowning deeply, but sent her to the medical unit for a full evaluation.

He was deeply sorry for the loss of Mr. Slate; he liked the young agent, hapless though he sometimes thought him and thought he was a good partner for Miss Dancer; still, it was a risk they all ran, all the agents he sent out into the field, and this was not the first loss, nor would it be the last.

April left a message for Napoleon and Ilya, that she needed to see them upon their return, but she had no idea when that would be; she felt herself retreating into herself.

Four days they took for their medical evaluation, four days to determine that while there was no physical trauma, they thought there must be some emotional trauma, for she was still sticking to her story, and couldn't be swayed from it, all evidence, all testimony to the contrary notwithstanding.

She was released and went back to her office; she was off duty, of course, til Mr. Waverly thought her fit to return to the field. She fussed with her files, trying to think, trying to plan. She stayed away from the public areas, from the other agents and support personnel; she couldn't bear their sympathy, when it was expressed, and when it was not sympathy, well, she had almost cracked and committed mahem when she heard one pair talking about if how they had to lose someone, at least it wasn't one of the better agents, like Mr Solo, just that offbeat clown of a partner of hers.

Still, they were lucky - she had some control left; they'd spend some time in the Infirmary, but not the hospital unit itself, and Mr. Waverly chose to ignore the incident, offering only a scolding, privately thinking the two had brought it on themselves. She doubted that would be the case if she met Mitchell and Davis; the morgue was more likely, and she had things to do, things she had to deal with before she dealt with them. After she did, she knew she'd have no future at all, and she didn't much care, but first things first.

She knew Napoleon and Ilya had still not returned, and she was desperate to talk to them, to warn them about Mitchell and Davis. She'd left messages in their offices, at their apartments; she feared the two rogues would somehow intercept her messages, prevent her warning. The question was, of course, would the two senior agents even believe her. They'd be shocked and saddened at the news about Mark, but would they think she was being irrational out of grief? In the end, the decision of whether to wait and talk to them or not was taken out of her hands. 

Actually, there were two motivators. First, she'd been in her office, after the scolding from Mr. Waverly about trouncing those two fellow UNCLE agents, when she received a call from an 'old friend' Andrea Louisa Haven, all three names given with a hint of ostentation, a bit of a pause between each name, asking her to attend a retreat with her.

"I know you expressed interest when I told you about the last one I went to, April," Andrea Louisa gushed, "and when I heard they had an opening for this one that I'm signed up for, well I just said to myself, mark my words, April will be thrilled for this opportunity. And the leader of the meditation? A sheer treasure, my dear, a sheer treasure! And the sanctuary at the retreat is a true work of architectural mastery."

April was holding her breath; Andrea Louisa Haven (Andrea? The name of one of Caeide's two men was Andrew, also middle name of her oldest son, so Andrea?, Louisa, the name of the oldest daughter; April had met both of these children); Haven was the name of their Clan enclave in Wales. The words, 'mark', 'treasure', 'sanctuary'. Could this be real? She had to take the chance!

"When is the retreat, where and for how long," she asked.

"In upstate New York, in the most beautiful country you'll ever see, though rather beyond the beyond, of course!" That phrase brought just a hint of a smile to April's face; she remembered Peter using that to describe Haven; more and more this seemed like what she had been waiting for. Andrea Louisa seemed to speak in exclamation points, April noticed. "It starts this Thursday; I know it's short notice, but they only got word of the cancellation a few days ago; it lasts a full six weeks, but surely for such a good purpose you can take some leave time? I'm driving in from the other direction, unfortunately, so I can't pick you up, but could meet you there. Don't bring much, everything important will be provided; just bring what you can't bear to leave behind."

April put her on hold, and placed a call to her superior, asking for some leave time, "to get myself together. The doctors seem to think I'm a bit traumatized and need to get away, to relax, and I have the ideal opportunity, a meditation retreat." Her leave was gladly granted; her superior was more than a little worried about how to handle her. She got back on the phone with Andrea Louisa and got the particulars.

Today was Tuesday, she'd have to pack after deciding 'what I can't bear to leave behind', which she thought to herself, may mean I'm not coming back. {"What would that be, that I can't bear to leave behind?"} Maybe some pictures, her copy of the journal, whatever cash she could gather without being noticeable, a change of clothing or two, very basic, not her mod, fun ones.

When it came down to it, Caeide had been right. {"What can I give up to have the one thing I treasure most? Everything!"} She thought to herself, {'if need be, I'll leave with only what's in my handbag, if that!'} Only, would she find her treasure again, or had she truly already lost everything and this just a cruel dream?

The other thing motivating her? The burning need for vengence. If she found Mark was truly lost, then bringing about the total destruction of Mitchell and Davis would be her one remaining life's goals, and preferably before they made a move on Illya.


	6. Haven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> April's journey to a retreat ends with her arrival at a sanctuary, Haven, only to be greeted by those she'd met so many years ago. Would the promises made so long ago have been kept, or would she find her hopes dashed, leaving her only with her burning need for vengence?

April had driven her rental car to the retreat, been taken inside, shown to her quarters; 'don't unpack,' the attendant murmured to her softly. Within a half hour, a secret door concealed behind a tapestry, {"how positively medieval,"} she thought, had opened and a young woman, obviously akin to Caeide, red hair and all, smiled and motioned her thru. Soon she was in a small car, then in a small airplane, passing over the ocean, then finally landing in a wide pasture near a small settlement. She didn't recognize it from the air, but when she and her pilot made their way down the slope to the large central building, she recognized Haven.

Caeidi, a few years older, but not much changed, met her at the door, hugging her, smiling reassuringly. "Yes, we've got him; he's here. April, dear, he's hurt, pretty badly, but he's getting good care; he should mend, with a little help." April was crying by then, not wildly, but standing still, eyes wide with tears streaming, relief, concern, disbelief, all fighting for position. Caeidi, thinking back to the day Peter arrived back home, barely able to stand, but back within reach where he could be taken care of properly, understood, and put one arm around the younger woman, holding her close. 

"You'll want to see him, of course. He's in what I call the invalid room; it started out my quarters, but we used it for Peter, then for Andrew, and eventually for several others, so now we just reserve it for the next time it's needed, and with this family, there's always a next time. Each time we make improvements, so it's as good as we can make it for him and for a caregiver or team of caregivers. You can stay in the adjoining room; the walls open up fully, so it can be really like one big room. Or you can stay in a guest room across the hall. It's your choice." Caeide knew what April would chose, she thought, but best to give her the chance to decide. 

"When you are ready, I need to hear what happened to cause this, and what has happened since. I need to bring you up to date as well. You let me know when.

"Caeidi, I need to know before I walk in there . . ." April knew Caeidi would understand what she meant.

"Of course, I have the summary of his medical file. This is information you need to know. Be prepared to curse a good bit, my dear, and expect more tears; I did both and I don't even know your young man. Do know, however, the ones who did this to him; they have all paid the price; it won't make it right, it won't make the recovery any faster or easier, but it may let you focus your energy where it needs to go right now. The doctor is up there right now; it'll be awhile before you can see him. Let's sit and talk." April thought, though, that Caeide was wrong about the ones responsible having paid; not all had paid, not yet, but they would, she vowed.

Caeidi was right, April did a great deal of cursing, and after, more tears came. While Caeidi had cursed the Thrush minions who had done this, April cursed Mitchell and Davis, who had deliberately caused this to happen. While she sipped from the well fortified cup of tea she'd been given, she explained to Caeide, and to Peter, who had joined them, how they had been betrayed, Mark abandoned and she forced away unconscious. How UNCLE Headquarters had accepted the story from Mitchell and Davis, thinking her overwrought, being confused due to the trauma of it all. She admitted her feelings of betrayal had grown to include her superiors as well. "They trained me, You'd think they knew me well enough by now to place some credence in what I say."

In turn, the two residents of Haven told her about the Gathering-In call once her message had been received, how the closest two enclaves moved immediately to rescue her partner, what they had found in the mountains a bare three hours after she'd been pulled away, the final resolution. She knew she owed these people more than she could ever repay, but when she said this out loud, Peter looked at Caeide and laid his hand over hers on the table, and then back at April.

"It's what was done for us, April, in one manner or another, us ones who bonded into the Clan at one level or other; it's what the Clan does for family, for friends. No thanks are needed, none expected, just know that a Gathering-In may call to you next time." He really did have a lovely smile, April thought gratefully, a smile to match those kind eyes; she'd remembered that from the time before.

A light flickered on the wall, "Patrick is finished, and on his way down; he's the doctor, also my next oldest brother. You'll want to speak with him; he knows to join us here in the kitchen." As a tall solidly built man, dark haired with glasses, entered the kitchen, he smiled at them all, "seems I do most of my consultations around a kitchen table instead of in an office; one of the side effects of being on call to the family, I guess."

Accepting a cup of tea from Peter, with a good slosh of whisky added, with a nod of thanks, he sat down, pulled the basket of scones closer, selected one carefully, and briefed them, explaining the various injuries, where Mark stood in the recovery, and what would lie ahead. He was very encouraging, honest in the severity of the damage, but certain that the chances for a full recovery were very good. He did, with a sideways glance at Peter, suggest that Peter and Andrew might be able to help with some of the support he would need. Patrick was well aware of what they had suffered during their time in the prisoner of war camp, there and at the hands of the Gestapo; it had taken them time to sort things out in their minds, and they didn't like revisiting those memories, but they would if it could be of help. They'd had help, it was their turn to help now.

Caeidi would able to guide April; she knew what Peter had been like when he returned from the war, what Andrew had been like when he joined them a year later. She remembered what had helped bring them back to a full sense of confidence in themselves and their worth, and how difficult and long that battle had been. She also remembered, all too clearly, how fragile they'd been; the things that needed to be avoided: total darkness, physical restraint of any nature, any sudden movements, being touched unexpectedly. It hadn't been easy, not on any of them, but time, care and love had proven stronger than the enemy; those things would prove stronger now.

The one thing, other than his injuries, other than the betrayal, that angered, no, infuriated April was hearing that the sadists from Thrush delighted in telling Mark, over and over, that his own people hadn't thought him worth taking with them, not worth sending in a rescue team. He had heard that repeatedly during his torture, and what had made it difficult for him to block it out, was that it was partially true. Surely he would remember that April hadn't left voluntarily, she thought; but he'd been shot the second time before she'd been dragged away; she didn't know how much he had been aware of, how much he remembered. Patrick assured her that they had made a point of telling Mark, whenever possible, that April hadn't abandoned him, had been the one to call for help, it was due to her that they'd known, that they'd come for him. Hopefully some of that had registered.


	7. The Wait

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They were in a safe place now, but would that be enough to allow the healing that was needed? Only time would tell. April only knew that everything that could be done WOULD be done, that all possible support would be given. No matter how things turned out, she knew that from here onward, when she thought of 'family', it would be of THESE people, not her cold and dictatorial father. Now, she knew what the word really meant.

April stood at the door to the room where her partner lay, so pale against the white sheets, fair hair darkened, soaked with sweat, face battered. He was huddled to one side, not quite curled into a fetal position, but not far from it. Everything told her to rush to him, to touch him, to reassure herself he still breathed, but Caeide had cautioned her, "don't be at a higher position than he is, don't touch him unexpectedly. Let him come to the realization that you are in the room at his own pace. It's hard, believe me, I know just how hard it is, but for now, at the beginning, it's his comfort that is important, far more than your own." Caeide's eyes had been sorrowful, but supportive; from the stories told when April had visited here so many years ago, April knew Caeide had first hand experience at this, the fight for, the caring for one much loved, much damaged. So she listened, she heeded, and after walking in, sank into the armchair after she had pulled it as close as possible to the bed. 

She sat, she waited; one of the youngsters brought her a light meal, something to drink. She left only when necessary, returned and waited again. She slept in the chair, til Caeide roused her, urged her into a comfortable cotton nightshirt, and eased her down onto the crisp cotton covers on the sofa only a few feet away. She watched from where she lay, watched him breathing in, breathing out, again, again. She woke to the same sight, him lying on his side, breathing in, breathing out, now with some slight sounds of pain interrupting. She hastened from where she had almost, not quite, rested, back to her chair, not bothering to dress, taking the sheet to drape around her. She stopped counting the time; she ate when food was brought, she slept when she was urged, she refreshed herself when Caeide insisted. How long, how long.

Finally, some time, she had no idea how much time had passed, it wasn't important, he roused enough to see her. His gaze was unfocused at first, but slowly she saw the blue eyes move to her face, stare wonderingly, then, his lids slowly close again. Had he realized she was here, she wondered? Had he really seen her? The next time, it took less time for him to meet her eyes, then a quick withdrawal, a denial. She sobbed, and sank to her knees beside the bed, reaching out to touch him, ever so gently. He started violently, and she drew back her hand quickly; no, Caeide had cautioned her against that! She sat beside the bed, on the long flat pillow that was stored under the bed, and leaned her head against the mattress where he lay. "Oh, please, darling, please," not knowing what she was asking, only pleading to him for something, anything. She wept then, long, hard, all the sorrow, worry and tension from the past days catching her in their grip, wringing all her anguish til she couldn't stop crying, stop shaking.

She became aware of a soft touch on her auburn hair, a long hand stroking her head, a soft murmur. "Don't worry, luv. I've gotten out of worst situations than this, you know." His eyes were only partly focused, but he was seeing her, she thought. She raised one hand to gently, ever so gently, stroke the side of his face, his hair, "I know, darling, and you'll get out of this one; together, we'll get out of this one."

 

He had been dreaming, he knew. She wasn't here, April was long gone. He didn't know if she had survived the encounter with Thrush, if Mitchell and Davis had left her alive, if she had made it back to UNCLE. He ached with the not knowing, it was tearing him apart. What would he do without her, her bright essence? He wasn't sure where he was, or with whom, but so far he'd been treated with genuine compassion, with real caring. He'd been told, repeatedly, that April hadn't abandoned him, but that was silly, why would they keep saying that, of course she hadn't, she wouldn't. There were few constants in his life, but that was one; she might have left to get help, she might have been taken away, she might have been unable to get back, but April would never betray him, never abandon him. But that didn't mean she had survived.

He remembered Mitchell and Davis; he knew they had meant for him to die, and it didn't make much sense that they'd keep April alive to tell anyone what they'd done. Maybe that wouldn't have mattered, though, what April would have told anyone, maybe they'd have thought it was safe to take her back to UNCLE, that no one would be overly upset, not if they just said he'd died in the attack and that April was mistaken. He remember what he'd been told, he didn't remember by whom, that UNCLE had decided he wasn't worth the effort of rescuing. He knew he wasn't a top agent; Mr Waverly was forever reprimanding him, cautioning him 'not to mess things up this time'. While he knew April would not abandon him, he would not be surprised to find UNCLE decided not to risk any other agents to get him back. He didn't know if it made him sad or angry to know the agency he'd risked his life for so many times valued him so lightly; it was really just too much to think about, and he was just so tired. Maybe he'd just sleep some more; maybe he could think better when he awoke the next time; maybe.

He felt people fussing over him, temperature being taken, vitals taken, bandages changed. He heard people talking, some sounding familiar, some not, one sounding almost like April, but not quite. The voice was too thick, harsh, as if it might have been April with a bad cold, or after a crying jag, though she rarely caught colds, and hardly ever cried even a bit. No, not April's voice, but it brought his mind back to worrying about what had happened to her. "April," he murmured.

"Yes, Mark, right here," and his eyes struggled to open, to stare at the wan figure sitting on the floor next to him, her head now level with his. "Hello, Darling, I've been waiting for you to wake up," she smiled at him ever so faintly; he wondered what she was doing here, if he was dreaming. Still, if he was dreaming, surely she'd look more fit; it looked like she hadn't slept in a week, or eaten for that matter, and what on earth was she wearing? An oversized sweatshirt??! Certainly not one of those mod outfits she fancied so! She wasn't real, couldn't be real; it was only when she raised a very hesitant hand to touch his face, to stroke the side of his head, that he let himself believe.

Tears came to his eyes, "You came back?"

"As soon as I could, darling." She looked up at the red-haired woman standing in back of her, "Mark, this is my, well, my sister, maybe my cousin, you might say, Caeide. She and her people searched for you when I called them, found you, took you away from the bad Thrushies." He looked up in bewilderment, knowing April had no sister, though the name Caeide rang a small, far off bell in his memory. It was all too much; his eyes slid shut once more, and he slept.


	8. Healing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> April and Mark, partners as always, undertake this new challenge, the healing from the damage caused by that betrayal from within. And they are not alone; Peter Newkirk, Andrew Carter and Caeide, along with assorted youngsters, are at hand to provide support and comfort.

¸¸¸¸¸  
The next time he awoke, it was to the sight of two youngsters sitting at his bedside, on the rug, watching him intently. He'd never been good at judging the ages of children, but these looked maybe around ten, both boys, one with dark brown hair, almost black really, with blue green eyes, the other also with brown hair, but his much lighter, with brown eyes. "Aunt April is with Mum, they're checking in stores to get her some more clothes, you threw up all over that last set," said the taller of the two gleefully, with a really cheeky grin, and the other, shorter one chimed in with, "our sisters were watching you, but they had to do chores, so we said we'd sit for awhile," with an amazing sweet smile. They chattered on for a bit, alternating sentences like that was their normal speech pattern. It seemed like they really didn't need any input from him, so he just lay and watched and listened to them, wondering vaguely why he had children in his room, wherever he was.

A thin dark haired man came to the doorway, smiled at Mark, and said reprovingly to the boys, "Thought you were supposed to be watching, and let us know if 'e woke up," with what was possibly meant to be a stern look, but from the eager smiles on the boys, hadn't been very successful. "I know, Da, but we were just getting acquainted a bit," the one with the darker hair said; Mark would guess they were father and son, they looked so much alike. Another man appeared in the doorway, shorter than the first, with the same light brown hair and sweet smile as one of the boys, again no secrets about the relationship here. 

"Mark, we met earlier, but I doubt you'll remember; I'm Peter, this is Andrew. This scamp," ruffling the hair of the smaller boy, "is Colin, and this one," chucking the taller boy on the cheek with a soft flick of one finger, "is Scotty. Run along, boys, tell your Ma that our sleeping beauty is awake, and could probably use some more of that broth she 'as fixed up. Ask 'er to send up a pot of coffee for us, too, while you're down there. Might be she 'as something tucked away for the two of you as well."

"Da, Daddy Andrew, can we come back later and visit?"

The two men looked at each other and smiled, the smaller man replying, "maybe tomorrow or the next day, I think you've visited enough for today. And tell your Aunt April we're going to be up here for awhile; we'll come and get her when we leave."

Mark let them raise him up onto extra pillows, forcing himself to tolerate their touch; they seemed to understand, as they were very careful with him, telling him in advance every move they were going to make, touching him only as necessary, letting him catch his breath, regain his composure, as needed. He leaned back into the soft support, looking up at them for some sign of, what? What was he expecting to see? he thought. Discomfort, pity, distaste? None of that did he find, only a kindness and understanding that he found inexplicable.

The one who introduced himself as Peter started. "What would you prefer, you to ask questions, or us to just fill you in as best we know? Then you could come back with anything you need us to add in. That might be less tiring, I'd think, at least for now."

"That sounds fine, but . . . Aunt April?" Mark said faintly.

"Yes, well seemingly she's distant kin to our own Caeide, and that's the easiest address for the youngsters," Peter said.

Andrew interjected, "Yeah, well, she figured it out, and it was a little complicated, fifth or sixth cousin, several times removed, something like that, not that it matters, though it was interesting, especially when she started explaining . . ."

"Yes, Andrew luv," Peter broke in with a tolerant smile, "interesting it was, but possibly more than young Mark needs to be 'earing right now. Mayhap we can leave all that til later?" Mark found it oddly homey to hear the strong Cockney accent that flavored Peter's speech, though the other was just as obviously American, Mid-Western if Mark guessed right. 

Suddenly he placed the names, remembering the wild story April had told him when they were snowbound. Caeide, married to Peter and Andrew, Peter and Andrew married to each other as well as to Caeide, strange, long-lost, distant relatives, at least Caeide was. A story about treasure, and a gift; he remembered he'd thought the whole story mad, with April perhaps having been hypnotized or drugged, certainly taking a dangerous risk with disappearing with those strangers for a summer. He looked around more carefully, with a frown, trying to become more alert.

"I think April told me about you, maybe about this place, though I thought she was spinning me a tale. Are we in Wales, 'beyond the beyond' I think she said you called it?"

Peter smiled broadly, "Well, that's all to tha good, at least you've some background."

The coffee appeared, along with a mug of broth, with two youngsters, girls this time, both redheads, much of an age as the boys, "Hi, Da, Daddy Andrew, brought the coffee and broth, and some scones as well," with the other interjecting, "Aunt April is with Mum, getting fitted out; we left Colin and Scotty feeding their faces, so they won't be back up anytime soon."

They smiled warmly at Mark, and after ridding themselves of the coffee pot, two cups hooked to the side, and basket of scones, together they approached the bed, one to each side, slowly, carefully, one carrying the mug, the other a spoon and napkin. Mark thought they seemed as if they might be wary, maybe half afraid of him, a stranger, but then realized, with a shock, they were trying not to startle him.

He looked at the men, his eyes wide with that thought, and they both smiled back at him, ruefully. "Well, they take their Mum's words to 'eart, not understanding it's not likely to be them or their brothers you'll be leary of. Don't discourage them, if you don't mind; it's good practice for them to be considerate of others, and understanding that consideration might take different forms."

He flushed at the realization that they understood why he'd be leary of anyone, but they didn't dwell on it, just waited patiently, sipping their coffee, talking of other matters, something about sheep, someone called Dugan The Third, and a snake named Robb? Surely that couldn't be right?

Once he'd gotten down as much of the broth as he could handle, and the girls had mopped up any spills, still very carefully, keeping their eyes on him to be sure he was alright with their touch, they left, grinning at the "Mari, Maeve, now back you go, I'm sure your chores aren't done yet." and an equally affectionate, "maybe we'll take a good look at those kittens up at the stock barn tomorrow, pick out a couple for the house," at which one laughed and said, "Yes, Daddy Andrew, just what we need is another couple of pets for the house, for us kids, of course!" Andrew just laughed, flushing slightly, as Peter reached out to tousle his hair, as he had the young boy's earlier. They looked at each with deep affection, and Andrew laughed again, ducking his head slightly, "I know, but there's just something about a kitten, you know!" "Yes, Andrew luv, I know," Peter shook his head in amusement.

Mark listened without comment as the two men related the events, April's part of the story, including her desperate call for help (he still didn't understand that, but had the history of her tale of her quest and the gift to make some faint sense of it) before she'd been taken away by the rogue agents. He heard of the rescue by the two families, Caeide and her sister Meghada, their men, their children, with the blessing and support of the whole Clan. He sat steely-faced when told of the elimination of every Thrushie involved, and the ultimate destruction of the mountain base itself. 

He started talking then, not deliberately, but as if he couldn't stop himself, talking of waking up from the drugged sleep, wounded, in the hands of the sadists; of all that had happened to him during those brief hours, what had been done to him, by the two women, by the men.

Suddenly he found himself leaning over the edge of the bed, vomiting violently into a pail that had quickly been placed into position, being supported on each side, firmly, gently. He was shaking, and the feel of their hands panicked him; he KNEW they weren't going to hurt him, but the panic wouldn't diminish, and he struggled for air. They laid him back on the pillows, one wiping his mouth, while the other one went to the intercom on the wall, calling for assistance. They kept their distance now, watching only to be sure he wasn't going to vomit again, wouldn't need his support, waiting, til April and a calm redheaded woman came thru the door; they received a nod, a touch to their cheeks from the redhead, and they left, looking back with concern. 

"April, see if you can calm him a bit, just sit beside him if he'll tolerate that," the woman spoke as she fetched a glass of water and damped cloth, as well as a basin. As she gently wiped his face, and held the glass to his mouth, basin balanced in front of him, "Rinse now, and spit; again." and when he'd finished, she brought over a small glass with a faint amber liquid in it.

"Take a sip of this, it'll ease the nausea, and that headache I imagine you're starting to feel right about now," she told him gently. "I gather you were recalling some of what happened; well, that's bound to cause a reaction, it certainly did with Peter and Andrew, and that was some time after the fact. I imagine all of you will be having some bad dreams tonight."

He looked at her in shock. "Yes, your Thrushies could run in good harness with the Gestapo, you know. Both my lads have their scars, inside and out; they'll be good ones to talk to, when you have the need; there'll be pain all around, I'd think, but it's not like talking to someone who's never gone through any of that, telling you some silliness from their books, never so much as having stubbed a toe, so to speak, not understanding a bit."

"Yes, well," he started, not knowing how much she knew of what he'd gone through, how much of that the others had experienced, but then looked at the deep understanding in her eyes, "yes, dear, there's nothing much in your medical report that wouldn't have been in theirs, if they'd had the opportunity of having much medical care at the time, at least, which they didn't. Peter deals with it a bit better than Andrew, now, though it wasn't that way in earlier years, though they both have their demons still. We've been blessed, that they've been able to get past it, been able to have full lives in spite of it all."

She looked at him and said something that at first made him angry, bitterly angry, "You have it better than they did, though, in some ways."

He could only look his fury at her discounting his pain, when she touched him ever so gently on his forearm. "For them, there had been no training, no discussion as to even the possibilities, as I understand you and your operatives get now. Sexual abuse was not discussed, certainly not in the military. The idea of a man abusing another man was simply not acknowledged, and as for a woman abusing a man, the idea would not have even occurred to anyone - anyone who hadn't undergone it, anyway. Remember, this was in the early forties; Peter was dealing with denying, at least to the outside world, his dual nature; Andrew was experiencing the awakening of his. Peter was under the tender care of the Nazi's on several occasions, and their agents were of both sexes; Andrew at least twice endured their hospitality. They were both part of a covert operation that hasn't been unclassified even now. The war ended with them being sent home with no acknowledgement, certainly no after care; in Peter's case, one of the operations he was involved with led to a mistaken impression that he was a traitor, though he had been following orders to trick the Germans; it was a successful operation, I'm told," she said with a look filled with her own bitterness, "a great success, except it left him with no welcome at home. Andrew also went home to no welcome, for different reasons. You will find much to talk with them about, I think; I think they can help in ways I cannot. I was fortunate, I had only one experience with such, well, plus one other experience on assignment that bordered on it, but . . ."

His anger died away under her sad calm voice; she was right, he wasn't the only one, and if anyone could understand, maybe it was these people right here. He suddenly remembered April was sitting there, and he closed his eyes tightly, not wanting to look at her. He didn't know what she knew about what had happened, but he knew he couldn't discuss it with her, not now, maybe never. 

Caeide finished with him, telling April to call her if she was needed, that they'd bring a meal up to her later, and more broth in a few hours. Then she left, leaving them alone and silent. Silent, that is, til April took up the story.

April continued to sit on the bed beside him; he found he rather liked that, it didn't bother him now, not with her, though having the redhead there had. She told him of the final minutes in the cave, of the realization that they'd been betrayed, of her desperate use of the gift given her by Caeide, and that odd sensation of being heard, being answered. Then, being darted by the rogues, carried away, taken to UNCLE Headquarters, only to hear that the mountain had been destroyed. Mitchell and Davis had been convincing, so much so that the records indicated Mark had been killed by Thrush gunfire before Mitchell and Davis had left the cave with April. He heard about her attempts to convince Waverly and the medical team, the efforts to reach Napoleon and Illya to warn them, her despair, her hoping against hope. He realized now that she was crying, perhaps not realizing it herself, not sobbing, just tears running down her cheeks. He reached out for her, without thinking, and pulled her carefully down into his arms, and she tucked her head into the long curve of his neck and shoulder, curling her legs up on the bed, and continued to weep.

They were still in that position, not moving, though April had seemed to run out of tears for now, when the children, now all four of them, streaming in like ducklings, each bearing part of the meal for April and more broth for him. They stopped, their eyes wide at the sight of them huddled together, then they looked at each other and smiled; Ma and Da and Daddy Andrew cuddled like that, this was good, this had to be good!

April came to herself and sat up, wiping her face. The youngsters hurried to pull a dropleaf table over in front of the armchair, setting up her meal there. Colin sat the covered mug of broth on a warmer tray on the mantle, along with a small covered basket. "That'll be for later, when you think you can handle a bit more. It'll stay warm, so there's no rush, just when you're ready. Aunt April, if you set the dishes in the hallway, we'll fetch them later." With a smile from each of them, they filed back out, went quietly down the hall, then with a gleeful look at each other, raced down the staircase, to bear the news that Mark and Aunt April were cuddling!

While she ate, she completed her tale, of getting the call from supposedly an old friend, all the signals that led her to hope again, her going to the retreat, knowing she might not be returning, her journey, and finally her arrival here. She did not include the story of her encounter with those agents at UNCLE, the ones saying such hateful things; as far as she was concerned, he never needed to hear that. While she knew Mr. Waverly used different techniques on each of his agents to keep them up to standards,she'd never liked his seeming to discount Mark, taking him to task so often, telling him 'not to botch things up this time'. She had accepted her own chidings from her superior, and she knew Napoleon and Illya came in for their own share, but she felt Mark took it all rather more to heart than Waverly ever knew or expected, and she'd often wished the older Englishman had chosen a different technique. The one time she'd tried to explain that to Waverly, she'd gotten only a cold, imperious look, though, and had been dismissed with a stern, "I'm quite sure I know best how to handle my agents, Miss Dancer."

"What now, luv? How long do they expect you to be away? For that matter, how long HAVE you been away?" Mark asked, hesitantly. He'd barely refrained from saying what pulled at him, what he truly wanted to ask, "how long before you have to leave me?"

"Well, the retreat was supposed to be for six weeks; they'll not expect me for almost another four, and I imagine it will be a bit after that before they try sending out the dogs," she told him seriously. "We've time to figure out the next steps, time enough not to have to think about it for awhile," she told him gently. "We'll have to come up with something, certainly, but we've time," leaving him with a sense of wondering hope, that she hadn't said she'd be leaving, not flat out.

By the time she'd finished, Mark was able to tolerate more broth, so she helped him with that, and a piece of the mild but flavorful bread she found in the basket on the mantle. When she went to set the dishes outside in the hallway, she found Peter and Andrew leaning up against the wall, smoking, seemingly waiting for just that signal. They came in and offered, "do you feel like a bit of a wash-up? There's the bath off to your left there, or we could bring a basin and do it where you are."

Mark tensed, thinking he couldn't bear their hands on him again, though he knew they'd been nothing but kind and considerate to him. He had no great fondness for smelling like a wet dog who'd been rolling in muck either, however, which he rather thought he did, so asked, "do you think you could get me in there, and just let me be for a bit?"

Andrew answered, "Well, sure! And what's great about this room, we re-did it a few years ago, and the bath is one of those step-in ones, where you sit down just like in a real chair, but with a door closing and with water coming up all around! It's really kinda neat!" Andrew did have a great deal of enthusiasm, Mark noted with a faint hint of amusement, seemed to get a great deal of enjoyment out of the little things. That gave him something to think about later, what these men had gone through, and where they were now, what they'd achieved with their lives.

"April can sit and talk to you while you soak, if you want; the top's open so it's not like you're all closed in, I hate that feeling, don't you? Patrick said you could get wet all over, as long as you weren't in the water too long; Caeide'll be up later to put on more salve, take a look to see if you need more bandaging, but I bet it'll make you feel a lot better, I know it always made me feel better, and you can have April call us when you're ready for us to help you back, and we'll have changed the bed and all, so you can be comfortable again, and . . ."

<>p> "Andrew luv, you planning to take a breath anytime soon?" Peter smirked, shaking his head. Mark and April both found themselves smiling at the pair, at their very evident deep affection for each other.


	9. What The Future Might Hold

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wherein Mark and April ponder what lays ahead for each of them, with various options being presented to them by those they now consider family. Will their partnership continue? If so, under what circumstances? Or will they each go their own way, treasuring what was, but knowing their paths are no longer headed in the same direction? In the hopes of helping her with her part of that decision, April has a sincere heart-to-heart with Caeide.

The bath HAD felt good, the damp cloth April had used repeatedly to stroke the dried sweat from his hair and scalp, a change of nightshirt, the fresh linens, all felt good. Caeide had carefully checked his wounds, applying fresh salve and a light bandage to only one, but saying letting air get to the others would probably be the best. April left while Caeide was seeing to him, to have a washup of her own and seeing to fresh clothes. He was settled, actually starting to doze a bit from the tonic he'd been given when she returned. She settled in the armchair, and they spoke, not of the recent events, but desultory conversation, things they'd done, places they'd seen, gradually conversation fading to silence. She saw he was close to sleep now, wondering if she should help him lay down, but he seemed comfortable as he was, so she moved quietly to the sofa where she had been sleeping. Someone, possibly one of the youngsters, had made it up with fresh linens and covers, she saw; they were all being so good to her and Mark, and tears of gratitude filled her eyes for a moment. 

He slept peacefully for the first part of the night, but in the hours after midnight became restless, then his breathing quickened and he started to moan in his sleep. She rose quickly and sat on the pillow beside his bed, quietly talking to him, afraid to touch him, maybe startle him awake. Her voice did reach through to him, and he awoke, reaching out a shaking hand for her. "April, you there, luv?"

"Right here, darling," as she took his hand in hers. They stayed that way for awhile, then she asked, "Would you want me to curl up beside you there, or would it bother you?"

He whispered, "I'd like that, I would," and she stretched out at his back; he turned toward her, and she curled up in his arms as she had that afternoon. When he started to dream again, as he did off and on the rest of the night, it took no more than her voice, a touch of her hand, to give him ease, and let him sleep again. She laid awake from time to time, feeling him so close to her, very aware of what had been given to her, very conscious that she needed to treasure every moment, make the best of every opportunity.

Each day went better, each night's sleep improved, for both of them. Mark no longer started when any of the grownups entered the room, and he was able to accept their help, and their companionship with greater ease. The days flowed one into another, both Mark and April finding a gentle peace with one another, and the outside world did not intrude. Finally, though, it was time for that peace to be shaken, at least somewhat. Caeide would have been glad enough, for her part, if that were not the case, but sooner or later some decisions had to be made, and they were into week four of the six week 'meditation retreat' alibi they had given.

They were still in the invalid room, though Mark had abandoned the bed except at night time, using the sofa for an occasional lay down when he became overly weary during the day, which was becoming more infrequent. He was sitting crosslegged on the floor, struming a guitar from the music room, browsing through a stack of sheet music, April and an assortment of children gathered on furniture and floor here and there listening idly, some of the children with open books in front of them. The three adults came in, looked around at the pleasant scene and smiled at each other, but Peter spoke, "Okay, youngsters, time to find somewhere else to be, something else to do. If you can't think of something, I'm sure one of us can," with a fond smile. The hurried mass exodus left the grownups remaining chuckling.

"It's time to do some looking at your own options, children," Peter told them, as Mark and April grinned at each other at the term. He, Andrew and Caeide found places to sit, smiled comfortably at each other, and then at their two guests. "We hate to bring this up, but it's time to consider options and begin with making some decisions, even if what you decide is to NOT make a decision, if that makes any sense."

"Well, actually, Peter, I'm not sure it does, I mean I don't understand, seems if you're going to make a decision it's got to be a decision, . . ." and continued for another couple of minutes, April and Mark now grinning ear to ear; they'd come to love to hear Andrew go off on one of his tangents, and watch Peter's face as he tried to follow all the twists and turns. They glanced at Caeide and were amused to find she was enjoying the spectacle as much as they were.

"Well, if I may take over for a bit," she started, with Peter breaking in with "and what took you so bloody long?? Usually you'd 'ave them all sorted out by now."

They all laughed, and she continued, giving a mock stern shake of her head at her two beloved men. "WELL, as I was starting to say, you DO have options that we can see, and they all have possibilities. Here's what we've come up with for you to think on, and you probably have some ideas of your own. We don't know if you want to get back into the game, or not, so this is rather a grab bag of ideas."

"You could resurrect yourself, Mark, and you and April return to UNCLE. You'd have those two rogues to deal with, and such, and I imagine there are some other issues to deal with, but it is one option.  
You could decide to stay in the game, but work for someone else; we have contacts with Nemesis, MI6, CIA and several others; we can handle both sides of that for you, if you like; hooking you up with an agency, getting UNCLE to stand down from kicking up a fuss." Mark and April looked at each other, wide-eyed; they were getting a much better idea of the power behind their new allies.

"We also have a rather nice division of something similar within the Clan, and we'd count ourselves quite fortunate to have you join us. You both have talents for the field, but also talents for working behind the scenes; you'll want to think which way you might want to go with that. Mark, you'll want to work with Patrick on that, I think."

Mark nodded; Patrick, the doctor who had treated him, had said there might be limitations, special considerations.

"You could decide to leave the game entirely. If that is the case, you would be welcome to live within the Clan, at any of our Enclaves, and there's a plenty to chose from, all types, all manner of places, and I'm sure you'd find appropriate occupations to please you. If you prefer not to live within the Clan, we can set up new identities for you, help you get established, though to be safe, that may mean some physical changes. Note I said 'live within the Clan' not 'stay within the Clan'; for better or worse, dears, you now ARE Clan, and I'm afraid there's not a lot you can do about that," she grinned at them.

Peter and Andrew ruefully nodded their heads, "Happen she's right there; once they adopt you, you stay adopted. We can vouch for that, though can't say we've suffered TOO much from it." That little statement got a pillow tossed at his head by the laughing woman, a pillow dodged by him, caught by Andrew with a grin, and tossed back to the redhead, who chuckled and placed it behind her back once more.

She paused, "that's of course if you decide to stay together. We're willing to do for each of you what we'd do for both, you know. We consider both of you family now," and she smiled fondly at both of them. Mark and April looked at each other, wide eyed; they'd not discussed any of this, hadn't given any thought to being separated.  
Meghada watched them from under her lashes; these two belonged together, she had no doubt, but that had to be their decision, not hers.

"If you do decide to stay together and NOT return to UNCLE, well, we'll figure out how to handle that, April, perhaps with something appropriately dramatic and over the top, something that'll ensure they don't come looking for you. One thing I know you still have on your minds is warning your friends Napoleon and Illya, and dealing with Mitchell and Davis. We've kept sort of a watching brief, enough to know that your friends are due back from their very long assignment within the next couple of weeks; if you make a decision before then, we may find some tidy way to combine your departure and their warning. I wanted to permanently deal with Mitchell and Davis before now, but the lads here convinced me I should confer with you first. Just know, I have no problem doing just that, would suffer no qualms, and can arrange it safely with no repercussions to anyone else. As I said, you are both family; they raised their hands against family; that cannot be allowed to stand, so it has to be handled one way or another." There was no doubt from the look on her face that she meant every word; she'd not tolerate any threat to her family, and it seemed Mark and April now counted as such.

Andrew spoke up next, very earnestly, "We're not pressuring you to leave, understand that, we love having you here, the kids love having you here. If you decided to stay with us, we'd all be really happy with that, there's plenty of room. But you need to be somewhere you'll be happy, and that has to be your decision. It's just that once that retreat is supposed to be over, UNCLE is going to start asking questions, and we use that facility enough we don't really want them going in and tearing it apart looking for you, April. We though we'd kinda lay out what we thought some of the possibilities could be, and you two could be thinking about them, then we can sit down once you have a better idea and make some real plans." He smiled at them sweetly, and they had no choice but to smile back; Andrew had that effect on most people.

April glanced up at Caeide, and Caeide could tell there was something the younger woman wanted to talk to her about, but not in this company. She gave her a tiny nod, and made a note to have her men occupy Mark for awhile this evening, to give them time to talk.

Mark found himself drawn off by Peter and Andrew after dinner for a quiet game of cards; they told him they knew each other's play so well, they could just as easily mark down the scores and points without playing the game once the initial hand was dealt, so would appreciate someone breaking up the inevitability. He was warned by both of them that Peter did cheat; the tall Brit told him ruefully, "Don't think I know how to play without it, anymore." Once Mark reassured both of them that he did a fair amount of cheating too, they laughed and settled down for a companionable evening. He knew something was up, but it was a pleasant way to spend some time. He saw April head off with Caeide and figured they had their own plans.

"Well, dear? What was it you wanted to talk about, away from the male ears?"

April was now a little embarrassed; this wasn't going to be easy, and she wasn't at all sure how to begin. "Caeide, you and Peter, you and Andrew," she stopped, blushing, not knowing how to go on.

"Yes, me and Peter, me and Andrew, AND Peter and Andrew. Is that what you were trying to clarify, at least at the start?"

"Well, yes. I mean, which was the first, or how, oh, I don't know how to ask what I need to know. I don't even know where to start!" 

Caeide gave a little laugh, "Well, let me fill in some of the history, and we can go on from there, as far as it affects you and Mark, as I expect it does in some way. I fell in love with Peter when I was in my Internship year; I was an adult in our culture but not in his, so I was well off limits to his way of thinking. I looked for no other, indeed would have wanted no other, and we weren't together for another several long years, what with my adding on a few years to that troublesome age, and then with the war and all. When he came back, he took refuge here; he was ill, wounded, damaged; we were together, but he was not committed to me, as me, for another year, while he was figuring things out in his mind, trying to heal.

He and Andrew met in Stalag 13, a prisoner of war camp; they were part of a covert operation there; I think they grew to love each other there, but I get the feeling nothing much physical happened between them during that time, though we've not discussed it, to be sure. During the year Peter joined me here, we reached out to the others in his command crew, including Andrew, to be sure they were safe, secure; we ended up inviting Andrew to visit, along with the others, and it was apparent that he was deeply unhappy where he was, and greatly happy here; it was also apparent that their feelings had not changed. There was one other Peter was involved with at the camp, and loved as well; that is a different story, and doesn't figure in too much with our lives here, at least not anymore, so I'll omit that if I may.

So, at the end of one year of Peter being here, he and I were a couple; Andrew joined us at the beginning of the next year, and he and Peter became a couple shortly thereafter, though to my mind it was only a formality, I think they really always were. A rather bizarre prank the lads pulled took me into sort of a flashback of a very bad time, and in dealing with it, without any real decision being made, all of a sudden Andrew was mine as well as Peter's. Does that help you narrow down your questions?"

"Maybe," she blushed, "you love them both, and they love you and also each other. What if you loved them both, and they loved each other, but they didn't really, well," then with a big rush of words, "could you have lived with them both if there wasn't anything physical between you and them, either of them?" Now she was truly embarrassed, {"just how personal a question do you think you're allowed to ask?? Because if that wasn't it, I don't really know what it would be!"}

"I gather you and Mark haven't been together in that way?"

"No, I mean we have always been partners; we love each other, though until now I didn't realize just how many ways I loved him, but it's never been sexual, you know."

"Do you get the feeling he simply doesn't want you that way, or simply was so fixated on the idea of you being his partner, his friend, that he never thought of it, or thought it best NOT to think of it? Do you think he perhaps prefers men exclusively?"

"I don't know, I know I've seen him interact with women, seem to chase them; I've known him to do the same, discreetly, with men, so I just don't know. And I don't know how much of that was real, how much was a cover for the jobs we did, either."

A deep sigh, followed by a long thoughtful look, and Caeide got up to pour a glass of wine for April, a glass of water for herself, one that she gave a glare at for some reason. "Okay, now we get down to the really personal stuff, April. When Peter came back from the wars, he had difficulty even thinking about sex; he'd had some bad experiences, similar to your Mark, but over an extended period of time, not just the once experience like with Mark, and it took some determination on both our parts to overcome that. When we did, at least to some small extent, it didn't take me any time to realize that rarely was it me, Caeide, that Peter was being intimate with, or at the very beginning, being loved by since he wasn't physically up to more than that."

She paused, looking at April, making sure April understood what she was saying. Satisfied the younger woman comprehended, she continued, "most often, I was the surrogate for either of the men he had loved from the camp. It took him quite some time to figure out that I realized that; I still find that incredibly hard to believe, it was so obvious to me. His actions, tone of voice, the touch of his hand, there was just so much difference on so many levels; I could even tell which one I was filling in for.

It was only after, if you can believe it, a confrontation between us after he heard me threatening a snake, and calling it by his lover's name (not Andrew, by the way), that we sat down and talked it out. We came to an accommodation, so to speak, that lasted until he decided to make a deeper committment to me, as me. We used a system whereby he could, let us say, give me a signal who he wanted in his bed that night. If it were me, that was fine, but with certain limitations I might feel the need to set. If it was one of the surrogates, that was well and good also, but I'd make a special effort to enhance his experience and not disrupt his rather fragile fantasies."

She smiled at April's wide eyes; "I'll go into further details if you really think they are relevant."

"Uh, probably not," April declared "I think this has to be the working definition of Too Much Information!" Caeide smiled, reading the expression on her face. 

"One of the things I thought about during that very complicated year was possibly something similar to what you are considering. That was, if he never wants me in his bed, but still wants me in his life, can I let that be enough for me. It became increasingly important that I resolve that once I realized the very real possibility of Andrew joining us as family, joining him as lover. I spent a lot of time thinking about that, and I ended up making a list."

April let out an incredulous giggle, and Caeide grinned over at her. "Yes, I know, go ahead and laugh, the lads and the children all laugh at my lists, but I find them most useful in help me arrange my thinking."

"I made a list of all the things I value and appreciate about Peter, the ways he enhanced my life, what I would hate to lose. It was exhaustive, ranging from his rather remarkable smile, his voice when he sings, his voice when he wakes in the morning (all cigarettes and whiskey rasp), his loyalty, his courage, his deep appreciation for anything good that comes his way, his deep capacity for love, his many talents, his willingness to pull his share of the load. The look of joy in his face when he helps one of the stock thru a difficult birth, the way he relishes the warmth of a fire and a cozy room, his utter ruthlessness when necessary to protect his friends, his compassion, his gentleness with children that I'd seen with the Clan youngsters and the children he came into contact with my year of Internship with him. His tenderness and caring toward Maudie and Marisol, friends of his from London who lived here with us, his patience with Andrew's twists and turns, his look of total bewilderment at some of Andrew's wild starts, that beginning look of panic when he realizes he's let Andrew pull him into some project he'd NO intention of being involved in," they both laughed at that, "on and on and on, such a very long list. I added to that, at the very last, his presence in my bed as a lover, whether to me as myself, or me as a surrogate. I looked at and studied that list, and asked myself, "if I removed that last item, would that be sufficient to make me not want him in my life?" You know, it took me about the same amount of time in deciding as it did in the asking of the question, probably less. His value to me is such, that yes, I could forgo that if need be. Would I miss it? Certainly, of course, he is a most generous lover, and receives as eagerly and sweetly as he gives, and I treasure our times together."

With a knowing smile, she added, "but, after all, intimacy can still be there without the sex, just as sex can be there without the intimacy, and you don't have to be entirely dependent on a partner, do you?"

April sat, drinking her wine, and allowing Caeide to refill her glass absently. They sat in companionable silence til, with a start, April realized they'd been sitting there for quite some time. "Thank you," she said quietly, "you've been very kind to share this with me, to give me a frame of reference." They smiled at each other, and each went to rejoin their own treasures. 

When she joined Mark in their shared room, he studied her face, watched her thinking. "Luv, should I ask?"

She looked at him, startled; she'd been lost in her own thoughts, "Probably not," she told him with a rueful smile, and an amazingly deep blush, thinking over that most surprising, most enlightening conversation. {"Tomorrow, in the morning, I need to start a list."} Then she looked over at the man who had been her partner through so many challenging and exciting times, {"No, the list is already there, in the back of my mind. I just have to organize it better."} Mark tried not to disturb her as she sat there on the sofa, obviously deep in thought, sometimes frowning, sometimes with a small smile.

Then, a deep stillness came over her, and a release of tension, as if a great burden had been lifted, and peaceful eyes looked over at him and smiled. { "She was right, it's simply deciding what you can and what you can't live without. He's never touched me in that way, and he is my treasure; if he never touches me in that way, he will still be my Ashtore, my treasure."} She gave a sudden grin, one that for some reason made Mark a trifle uneasy, {"Doesn't mean I can't go for the gold, though, see what the possibilities are!"}

With the morning, after breakfast, Mark and April sat down together to think through their options. They promised to be totally honest with each other, what they thought about each, what they thought they could or couldn't handle, how they really wanted to spend the rest of their lives. For example, how important was it to each of them to remain in the fight against evil; they'd already given more than most in that fight. How important was it to each of them to work in the field, versus behind the scenes, especially if the doctor said Mark shouldn't go back to that active a service? Perhaps most important, how important was it to each of them that they remain partners? The question that had been in April's mind, "And just how far would that partnership extend," was not discussed, not yet. {"Well, that makes sense; if Mark decides it isn't so important to remain together, that might just put paid to that part of the discussion."}

They remained in the invalid room thru the luncheon bell, and Andrew brought up a tray, slipping into the room after a brief knock and placing it on the desk. "Don't mind me, but you both need to eat something. Just leave the dishes in the hallway; one of the kids will pick them up later," he said with a quick smile, and left, closing the door behind them.

By the time late afternoon came, they had narrowed it down. Yes, they wanted to remain in the fight. No, neither wanted to return to UNCLE; while understanding of Mr. Waverly's stance, both felt, to varying degrees, a certain sense of disappointment, perhaps even of betrayal in his reaction, in the reactions of their fellows. Neither thought they could easily rely on them, trust them entirely again, and trust was essential in their line of work.

One of the competing, or perhaps comparable would be a better word, agencies? From what they'd heard, they didn't think they'd fit in. The last time they'd been co-opt'd to the CIA and Mark had been captured, their temporary superior had ordered April back to base, saying he was just a necessary casualty; she'd just gone through that, she wasn't interested in going through that again. And the CIA would probably remember her totally disobeying orders and getting help to rescue her partner. The CIA had not been amused. They'd heard from Illya about working with one of the Nemesis teams, and it sounded like the bureaucracy there was even worse than with UNCLE, and the trading of lives for mission success even more pronounced, and they'd had enough of that.

The Clan, though, if they had something similar, that could be a strong possibility. The sense they had gotten of the deep loyalty within the Clan boded well for that. That the Clan would put resources, considerable resources, into a rescue of someone with such a remote claim on them, that was impressive. It boded well for being able to trust. They decided to ask about that on the morrow, see what they could get in the way of possibilities there. Caeide had already warned them that the Clan's interests and those of the other agencies didn't always coincide. 

Whether in the field or not, that was a serious consideration, and one possibly dependent on the doctor's determination of Mark's recovery. He had other skills, and had more than once considered transferring into computers or analysis; he had backed away each time because of April; he valued her, her partnership, and she valued him, for some reason Mark never quite figured out, considering he wasn't considered a top agent by any means, in fact, a bit of a screw-up by some at UNCLE. Because of that, her declared need of him, he'd decided to remain a field agent, as long as she wanted him beside her. April had not considered a transfer before, though she'd know she'd have to leave the field when she turned forty, quite some time away; she was a bit younger than Mark, hadn't been in the field as long.

She decided she'd ask Caeide just what departments, what skill groups the Clan used, to see what she might be suited for, something that she might feel comfortable doing. One thing she felt strongly about, he was the only field partner she wanted, so if he wasn't going to work there, she didn't intend to either. She didn't want him worrying about her being out there, while he was tucked behind walls somewhere; she'd done that, it was sheer agony, she'd not wish it on him. If they stayed together, it would be one or the other for the pair of them, as far as she was concerned.

They kept circling around the big question, did they want to stay together, when it finally dawned on April, that they hadn't been circling it at all; they had just based all their other discussions as if they WERE staying together. {"Is it really that easy? Is it something so obvious that we weren't putting it off so much as accepting that it was already decided?"}

She decided to just put it on the table. "Darling, we ARE staying together, aren't we." Mark looked up at her, realizing; {"She didn't say that like it was a question, more like just wanting confirmation of my understanding of what she already sees as a fact."}

He frowned, looking down at his hands, looked inside himself, and realized he hadn't been questioning it either, except for that part of him that felt guilty about changing her life so much. "That's what you want, April? You'd be alright with that?" he asked her, very seriously.

"That's what I want," came the answer, clear and strong and warm, without hesitation.

"Then that's what we'll do; can't think of anyone else I'd rather 'ave at my side," with that breathtaking smile of his, the one that had always touched her heart.

At dinner, they shared what they'd decided, and asked for more information about the possibilities at the Clan operation. All three adults looked well pleased; the children were bewildered that a decision even had to be made - surely their new Aunt and and her friend would stay, they LIKED them! Andrew offered to get in contact with the proper people, and they'd have answers pretty soon. They nodded, and went on to more important topics, like which of the kittens had Daddy Andrew selected for the house and why; which of the cows were next in line for breeding; whether that new cheese was worth making again, when the newest crop of youngsters were due for training; why, after deciding Mari and Maeve would be the last, was Caeide clutching the basin first thing in the morning, once again - the important things.


	10. The Last Part of the Question

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After deciding their partnership is too valuable to step away from, the partners address the final part of the question, and find the answer is much easier to find than they'd ever dreamed. And although the family rejoices, they also gather together with the two to offer some sage words of advice from their own experiences.

The last part of the question was decided almost as easily and unexpectedly as the question of whether they'd stay together. She'd formed the habit, welcomed by him, of curling up at his side at night, the sofa long abandoned; when nightmares came, and they did, a touch of her hand, a soft word, and he found himself again, relaxed and drifted back to sleep.

They'd done the same tonight, curled up next to each other, talking softly of this and that, when she needed, just needed, to touch him. Without thinking, she drew her fingers down the side of his face, brushed his lips next; he stilled, not breathing.

"I'm sorry! I didn't mean to . . ."

"No, it's fine, I just wasn't expecting . . ." He slowly reached out his hand, brushed her hair back from her face, looking down as best he could in the shadows, "April?" hesitantly, licking his lips. {"Lord, what am I supposed to do now? I can't mess this up, it's too important, this partnership, this friendship, I can't mess it up with sex, not if that's not what she wants, if that's not what she intended. 'ow the bloody 'ell am I supposed to know???"}

She listened to his hitched breathing, feeling the tension in his long lean body, almost hearing the thoughts running through his head. {"There is a definite advantage in having been partners for all these years; you really can almost read each others minds, though he's having a bit of difficulty reading, or perhaps accepting what he's reading in mine right now, I think. That's alright, I'm rather surprised by all that's going through my mind right now too. I think that conversation with Caeide rather went to my head, or at least it went somewhere, perhaps a bit lower though!"}

"Tell me if you want me to go back to the sofa, Darling; I don't want to, but I will."

"And if you stay?"

She closed her eyes, {"How much can I ask of him? Even without what he'd gone through, how much do I have the right to ask?"} She remembered their agreement earlier, that they be totally honest with each other, their understanding that only in doing that could they make good, solid decisions that they'd hopefully not regret. "Honestly, Darling?"

"'onestly, luv."

"I needed to touch you, I still do, I want to. I need you to touch me. I don't know what you want, what you're ready for, and if you don't, that won't change anything else, so there's no harm done, so just let me know, and I'll, but oh, Mark, I do want," she started softly, ending almost with a whimper and a slight involuntary twisting of her body against his.

Mark went very still, then reached for her, putting his hand on her shoulder, and said, very seriously, "Don't take this the wrong way, April luv, but did you notice 'ow much you sounded like Andrew just now? And no offense, but that's not a picture I really want in my 'ead at the moment!" She snorted with involuntary laughter, and their heads rested close as they shared their amusement. 

He swallowed, then told her honestly, "I don't know what I'm ready for, either, luv, what's possible. Let's take it as it comes, it might take awhile, but it'll be worth the wait, I think." He leaned into her, kissing her very softly, her returning his kiss, touching his face with her fingers, him quivering under this most innocent of touches. His hand drifted from her face, down her throat, to her breast, pausing at her lush softness, her rumpled hardness there, moving further down. Upon reaching her waist, he slowly pulled her body closer to his, closing his eyes, considering what he felt, analyzing. He didn't want to ruin this with a sudden panic attack; she'd understand, he knew that now, and bear with him, but it would be bloody embarrassing, to say the least. {"Alright, so far, so good. In fact, it's bloody good!"} He let his hand trail down along her hip and upper leg, noting those interesting little noises she was making now, and the involuntary quivering under his hand. He found the bottom of the nightshirt she wore, and started to pull it up, and she sat up to help him, pulling it off over her head and tossing it onto the floor, then moving to remove his as well. {"Oh, yes, that's better!"} as he let his fingers move along her inner thigh, reaching upwards, listening, wondering to the rapid change in her breathing. As he touched her, he felt her hand touching him, stroking his firm length, {"funny, didn't even notice when that 'appened; bloody nice to know it still CAN 'appen, actually!"}

He heard her, moaning, whimpering gently, softly telling him all she intended, all she wanted to do for him, to him, all she wanted from him. "That all sounds wonderful, luv, but possibly not all in one night, at least not this night!" he whispered, thinking to tease her, but then his fingers found the hot wet essence of her, and his thoughts melted. He wanted to kiss her again, but he didn't think he had enough breath for that along with all else; he was gasping for air already with what he was feeling, his fingers stroking her softness, her writhing against his hand, against his body. His fingers slipped inside her, his palm moving against her repeatedly, and she arched into him, her cries more urgent now. Her hand exploring him, stroking him, holding him harder now, moving more urgently, him stroking into her hand. No, there was no air left for kissing, though he wanted to; later, he reminded himself, there'd be time later. She gave a great cry, and fell into him, shuddering, gasping for breath, but never releasing him, holding him so tight he hesitated to move.

As she caught her breath, she seemed to realize, and loosed her grip, resuming her stroking, then stopping, looking up at him in the darkness, saying urgently, "please, Mark, please, let me go, I need . . ." and she pulled back and away.

He stilled, shocked, missing her warmth, wondering what he'd done wrong, 'oh, please, don't let me 'ave mucked it all up!' when he felt her warm breath on him, and wonder of wonders, feeling her soft lips, wet tongue on him, tasting, stroking, eventually engulfing him, all to the tune of the most amazing moans and purrs and other sounds he couldn't identify or even describe; in fact, he sometimes couldn't tell if they were coming from her or from himself. As for what he was feeling, he doubted he'd be able to describe that either. Physical sensation wrestled with the emotional knowledge of what she was giving to him, and he was bereft of words, even thoughts. With a sudden arch of his back and a drawn out cry, he gave her what she'd asked of him, or was it what he'd needed from her, or was it . .. {"Oh, lord, now who's sounding like Andrew??"}

The morning sun poured through the window, onto the two pale bodies curled together on the bed. Most of the covers were on the floor, only a sheet pulled very haphazardly across them. Mari and Maeve, Colin and Scotty stood in the doorway, with the breakfast dishes in their hands, looking their fill. They turned and looked at each other and gave a tiny grin and an arch of their brows, and tiptoed into the room, setting the dishes down on the desk, and walked back out. Mari leaned back in and called gently, "Breakfast, Uncle Mark, Aunt April. Just leave the dishes outside; we'll pick them up later." 

Mark and April came awake with a start at the sound of the voice at their door, looking at each other in astonishment, then in wonder, then in total, rueful, loving acceptance, then with startled, wide eyes toward the door that had just swung shut.

They looked at the desk with its lavish bounty, and both turned red, glancing down to see the sheet NOT covering them. "Uncle Mark?" he said, in a panic. "Well, if I'm to be Aunt April, what do you expect, considering?" and she looked down his long length, not any of which was really what you might consider covered. Her gaze became more speculative, and she licked her lips, considering his morning erection, "Uncle Mark, did you have any special plans for that," and giggled as his face filled with shock, and then, slowly with anticipation, "well, Aunt April, 'ave you any suggestions?". Turns out, she had several, all of which it seemed he had no problems with at all.

They made their way downstairs after they'd had their fill, well, had their fill and eaten breakfast, April bringing the dishes down with her. They hesitated before entering the kitchen, hearing the sound of voices then the closing of the outside door, but drew their courage around them, casting one last rueful look at each other and made their entrance.

April moved to set the dishes on the counter, with a smile at Caeide, sitting at the table sipping a cup of tea and slowly munching small salty crackers. She looked a trifle pale, but smiled back at them.

"Sorry about the children; sometimes they forget to knock, though they know well enough to," Caeide apologized.

Mark heaved a sigh of relief; he'd not been sure whether the family would be annoyed with them about the sight the kids had walked in on. She seemed to know what he was thinking, "they are really quite well adjusted, you know, they have to be around here," with a grin, "they've been taught to give people their privacy, and if they forget, it's them that are at fault, not otherwise. Actually, 'Uncle Mark', they are delighted; they've become as fond of you as we all have. That does bring up another topic of discussion, though, one I need Peter, possibly Andrew to join in. Perhaps after lunch?" They nodded and took up her suggestion that they take a short stroll through the gardens, leaving her to her glum consumption of tea and crackers.

After a satisfying, and frequently hysterical lunch, with the children telling everyone of their morning activities and occasional mishaps, the adults indulging them, indeed relishing their tales, the children dispersed to their various activities and the others to the library, where they settled in comfortably. Mark and April waited for someone to start this conversation, but the silence was unbroken, and the looks were increasingly uneasy.

Finally Mark asked, "Is there something wrong, that we need to know about?" starting to become concerned. The three adults looked at him, then at April, and back at each other.

Peter heaved a deep sigh, "No, just something you need to be aware of, something to look out for. I just don't like talking about it, makes me look like a great sod, at best, and in the right light, a lot worse."

He stood abruptly, went to the window to lean against the wall and stare out. Here, Caeide jumped up and went over to him, "No, it doesn't; makes me look fair foolish, it does, maybe, but we need to tell them, it could have gone badly for us, but we had luck on our side. They need to be told, so they can be forearmed."

She put one hand to his shoulder, urging him around to face her. She tipped her head to one side, holding her palm against his cheek, almost crooning now. Andrew now got a tiny smile on his face and winked at a puzzled Mark and April, saying in a surprisingly crisp impatient voice, "Look at them, first arguing over who was to blame, then they get to comforting each other, next thing we're building on to the nursery again!"

They turned in unison to glare at him, and when met by his warm face, and mischievious grin, shamefacedly laughed and returned to their seats. "Yes, well, he's not so wrong about that," was admitted, to the sound of their general laughter.


	11. Advice Given and an Offer Made

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After all, what's a family for? Sound advice is give, a sincere offer made, and the rest of the family introduced.

Peter started, "I didn't mean anything bad by it. Acourse, sometimes I don't think before I act, and that can 'ave about the same results. She was working in the far loft, sorting through stored furniture and 'ousehold things, deciding what to use in setting up another couple of bedrooms. I'd finished early in the field, 'ad a round of good luck, I'd thought, and a job of work we'd thought would take all morning was finished in just a couple of 'ours. Got back to the 'ouse, cleaned up and went looking for 'er." Again, he paused, looked around, very serious now, and repeated, "I didn't mean anything. . ."

Caeide looked at him and realized he needed a few moments to collect himself, and she took over the story. "It was hot and close up in the loft, the window was stuck and I couldn't open it for air nor for light, and it was all dim. I'd been moving things around quite a bit, and had gotten a bit out of breath, and my mind was on the new space, what we'd need, how best to arrange things. I knew I had the house to myself, and was talking to myself as I'm wont to do. I didn't hear his steps on the stairs; he's that graceful he rarely makes any noise," with a tender glance at the tall Brit, and a roll of the eyes from Andrew. 

Peter hesitated, then started again, "she was leaning down looking at a storage chest, a little damp in the face, clothes sticking to her in spots, 'air starting to work its way out of that topknot she wore for such work. I was across the room in a shot, grabbed her around the waist, 'ad 'er on 'er back across one of the spare mattresses, 'ead buried into me chest. She was putting up a fair tussle, but we get a bit rough now and again, so that didn't give me pause. I'm ashamed to say it took me longer than it should 'ave to realize she wasn't just playing, she was terrified." He shook his head, looking at them shamefaced, "wasn't til I touched 'er, you know; usually by then she'd 'ave been more than ready for me, ready to turn the tables, like as not, but . . ."

The redhead stretched out her hand and touched his shoulder, "and there's no way he'd have known. Wasn't it just the week before we got carried away in the big stock barn? Much the same it was, him catching me coming around the corner, with a big pile of straw instead of a bed. But in the barn, I knew he was there already, of course, we'd walked up together, hadn't we, it was light so I could see, we'd both been in a frolicsome mood all morning. In the loft, my mind was elsewhere, I just knew I was caught up and . . . to tell the truth, I got caught up in a flashback, and I panicked; gratefully, really panicked, for I well know how to protect myself when I'm of my right mind, and Peter could have gotten hurt badly, but since in the original incident I hadn't been able to protect myself, there'd been too many of them. . . ," she stopped, swallowed repeatedly, swaying a bit back and forth.

Andrew hurried and poured a tiny glass of bourbon from the tall decanter in the corner and gave it to Peter to help her with. He looked around and, making a decision, went and poured a small glass for each of them, handing them around. April took hers with surprise, she'd have thought it a bit early, but seeing the distress on their faces, held hers pretending to take a tiny sip. 

Peter took over the story again, though he was no longer in his chair; he'd lifted her from the armchair, settled into it himself, with her in his lap securely. "I realized it 'ad all gone pear-shaped, got to the window and forced it open, letting in light and air, for she was gasping like she couldn't fill 'er lungs no matter 'ow she tried. I knelt down where the light was directly on my face and started talking to her, don't really remember what, but letting 'er know it was me, that she was safe, I'd not come closer."

She was breathing easier now, and tried to smile, "I had finally figured that out, and was appalled at myself, at what had happened. The look on his face!! We can get a bit rough sometimes, and a bit adventuresome, like, but we'd never knowingly hurt each other, never force ourselves on the other. I'd calmed to where I could get over to him, put my hand over his mouth before he could start promising all sorts of things I'd not want or need for him to be promising. Knowing what a stubborn, prideful lug he can be, he'd have done his best to keep those promises, to the everlasting sorrow of both of us, most like," with a mischievious, loving look into his face. He gave a small laugh, looking down at her with regret, sorrow in his expressive face, and she leaned in to him, her head on his shoulder, his arms tight around her now. 

Andrew let out a huge, very noisy, very deliberate sigh, "See what I mean? Uh, guys, we going to go ahead with this conversation, or should I take Mark and April out to see the sheep for an hour or two." The two huddled in the chair gave a slight start, looked up pink faced, as if they'd really forgotten they weren't alone.

Caeide brushed his arms aside, stood up out of his lap, and gave a tiny, forced laugh, "we continue the conversation, but I think I'd best move to another seat," giving her tall Brit a tender, promising glance. He gave a little grin, and settled back in the armchair.

"That wasn't the only time for the flashbacks for me, a couple other scenes from during the war, and any of them could have caused real problems, if Peter, then Peter and Andrew hadn't been understanding of the cause, patient with me." At their protest, she held up a hand and nodded, "Yes, and it worked in the other way more than once too, with it being one of them being caught up in the demon's claws, needing the understanding, the support. 

"Thing is, you need to understand, reality can be rather fluid, especially when bad things have happened. Sometimes the past, the present, they get all muddled. Sometimes, it's not even something that really happened, just something that happened that COULD have gone so wrong. We've a friend, in fact the leader of a group that included the other three men of your rescue group, Mark, who came back from a mission where he'd been wounded seriously, two of his men wounded badly as well. He was unconscious for some time; he was withdrawn when he did wake, not wanting to speak with anyone. Turns out in his mind, while he had survived, none of his men had, two dying in the field, two succumbing to their injuries upon return. None of that had actually happened, but it took not just seeing his men, safe around him, but time, and Meghada says the nightmares still come sometimes, all these many years later." 

"It might be you, Mark, reliving what happened, maybe with help not coming, maybe even with April being the betrayer," shaking her head at his protests, "it could be you, April, with help coming too late, or with you somehow causing it all, maybe even planning it; it could come in a variety of ways and at the most unexpected times, the most inoportune times," she looked at them meaningfully, "but what we live through affects us in strange and powerful ways. We don't mean to alarm you, but we know what we've gone through. While some of what happened with the flashbacks and nightmares could not have been prevented, we might have handled it better, more easily, if we'd known more, recognized what was happening faster, if we'd been able to understand better what was happening in the other's mind."

"I know this is an unpleasant subject, for us as well as for you, but we'd talked it over; you've gone through enough; if there is something we can do to help ease your way, we wanted to do that, even at the risk of some discomfort," and she smiled at them, and then at her two lads. April thought again of just how blessed they were, she and Mark, to have this strong support behind them. She also thought of how blessed the three in front of her were, to have each other's strong arms to lean on, to hold on to. They saw what she was thinking, each smiling at her and her Ashtore warmly, and they settled down to discuss any questions the two of them might have, and there were questions, and answers, and companionship, and family.

The information had come from the Clan, showing what could be offered. What enclaves existed, where, what they did, skills needed. What sections existed within that 'special' branch of the Clan, the one with goals somewhat similar to UNCLE's, and what positions, skills were needed, both in the field and elsewhere. The two of them spent time discussing the possibilities; Mark had learned from Patrick that while an occasional field operation might be acceptable, it'd be best he not make that his main occupation, and certainly not where he'd be expected to move quickly. His ordeal had left him without his former grace unless he had time to be deliberate in his motions, and could prove dangerous to him and any team members. He put the notion aside; he'd be as well content behind the scenes, and he'd no wish to put anyone else at risk. April had several strong skills, and no preferences, so they reshuffled the lists, eliminating any of the field work opportunities, and concentrating on any where their skills were needed at the same locations. Turned out there were several, at the main section headquarters, but it was half a world away, and they found themselves reluctant to leave this family they'd found.

When they'd enlarged their discussion to include the three adults here, they were asked a serious question, "How much do you need the outside world?". 

They were puzzled by the question, til Caeide explained. "You say you favor working with computers, Mark, and you both favor analysis. April, you've talents with dance, fencing, small arms, and such. Mark, you've musical skills, impersonations, characterizations and others as well. We've a possibility for you. If you like the idea, we can put it into place and you give it a try. If you find you miss the interaction of others too much, well, we'll revisit your options at that time, but you might like this, at least to start." They looked at each other, wondering frowns on each face.

Caeide laughed, "Yes, I've rather put things in the wrong order, I know; I should have made a list," which was greeted with a loud laugh from everyone, everyone knowing her and her penchant for list-making.

"Thing is, we've part of a computer set-up here, and room to expand it to a rather elaborate one; the Clan has expressed willingness to do that. We've communication equipment enough, and work space aplenty. Living quarters can be set up here in the family section, or if you prefer more privacy, we can find a way to provide that for you as well. We get at least two rotations of youngsters through here each year, sometimes more, to learn skills in the workrooms below, and on the farm itself. Used to be the five of us would teach, the three of us, plus Maude and Marisol."

Her tone saddened at the mention of Maude, who'd gone ahead. Marisol was now married and living some distance away. "Maude would teach stillroom skills, brewing, baking, cooking, weaving, plus a lot of things not easily labeled; Marisol taught what she called the female arts, a lot of the cons being a woman let her use, plus dealing with the poultry, her specialty. Peter, Andrew and I each have our own specialities, and handle the generalities. I've taken over the things Maude would have taught, and as much as I can of what Marisol taught. We bring in others to teach classes as well. We think you both have a lot to offer the youngsters, and around your work for the Unit, might want to take on some of those. There's no obligation; we'd want no one working with the young ones who didn't want to be there, that would be of no benefit for anyone. We've usually a goodly contingent of interns working with us here, on the farm itself, now that it's grown so much, and in season now have a rotating workforce, still all family or family connected, and will have a couple joining us next week. They have their own quarters, not within the main building, but a bit farther afield, especially since the family's grown so much." This with an arch look at Peter and Andrew, both of whom tried to look remorseful and only managed to look slightly smug, to the bewilderment of Mark and April.

Seeing their reaction, Andrew took over, proudly, taking a small album from the shelf above the desk. "Here, these are our oldest two, James Andrew and Louisa Maude. They're just past twenty. Peter Karl and Agnera Kathleen, at seventeen, Liam Shjean and Morgana Deann, they're fifteen. They were all in the group that came to fetch you, Mark. They're off doing what they do, now. You'll meet them at one of the family gatherings later. You've met Colin and Scotty, and Mari and Maeve, of course. All twins, I never heard of so many sets of twins in one family, but it seems that's just what we do," with a wide grin at Caeide and Peter.

April's eyes grew huge, "Ten? Five sets of twins?" Yes, she should have remembered that from her earlier visit, the two children in London, the four here at home. Now the four younger ones here. Somehow, though, she'd never considered, never mentally added them all up. She took a quick look at Caeide's slightly mounding center, "and?"

"I don't know, but I certainly wouldn't bet against it," the woman said with a shake of her head. "We'd determined, we'd decided, Mari and Maeve would be the last, but somehow that seems not to be the case."

Peter answered her somewhat accusing look with a bland, "Yes, well, I've been reading up on it, and seems they've finally figured out what causes that, luv, and you'd never believe!" He got a pillow square to the head, amongst the joined laughter from the others in the room.

Mark, with a tilt of his head, "So Mari and Maeve are twins? I'd rather thought maybe Mari and one of the boys, and Maeve and the other?"

Peter, raised his eyebrows, wondering why Mark would have even tried matching them off, then realized, and looked over at Andrew. "Yes, well, you mean with their looks, Colin and Scotty. Well, seemingly, that was one of our more adventurous moments," with a sheer devilish gleam in his eye. Andrew laughed, and Caeide, who'd been caught in mid-drink, inhaled wrong and sputtered. April looked over at Caeide, who opened her mouth to explain, and April held up her hand to stop her, albeit with a laugh and a smile, {"yes, definitely Too Much Information!"}

Andrew grinned, "well, if you think that's something, you'll need to meet her sister, Mehada, and her men, Craig and Goniff. Their oldest son, Randy, well . . ." and Peter roared and Caeide laughed. As April and Mark looked on in confusion, Caeide explained that somehow Randy inherited Craig's green eyes and gold blond hair and strategical abilities, but Gonif's small build and wide expressive mouth and light-fingered propensities. Meghada, Randy's mother, just laughed when anyone remarked on it, but Caeide figured there had been some adventurous moments there as well, although she'd not heard of such a result before.


	12. Making the Leap

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wherein April and Mark prepare to step into their new future, saying their farewells. But when an inquisitive Illya starts to get to close to discovering some of the truth, they know they must have one final meeting and get his assistance to buy their true freedom.

They were in the middle of week six of the retreat alibi when April and Mark had made all their decisions, and approached the family about finalizing plans to permanently, or at least for now, both 'disappear' April, and warn Napoleon and Illya, who had just returned to UNCLE headquarters in New York. They alerted the retreat facility, who would tell anyone asking questions that April had left weeks ago, just checked out, got in her car and left, with no explanation. If anyone asked, there really was an Andrea Louisa Haven there; she'd stayed for the whole retreat; no, April hadn't said anything to her, just hadn't shown up for a session, and that was it. The security camera tape would even show 'April' leaving in the rental car. The car would never be found, no trace of her credit cards, no accessing of her bank accounts, no messages to anyone.

They worked and reworked the plan, sometimes laughing almost hysterically at some of the really wild ideas put forth, usually by Andrew, in earnest, sometimes by Peter, in amused response to one of Andrew's wild starts, to accomplish their goals. Caeide was the voice of reason, also the one to keep their plans from getting too detailed. "You don't want to give too many points of reference, too many things for them to check. It's like when telling a lie or running a con, keep it as simple as possible while still getting the job done. So, no, we're not telling them you are jumping into Mount Mihara, where they can start checking those remote cameras, all the means of transportation to the volcano, or even to Japan for that matter. Besides which, Andrew, I'm not sure bodies do exactly like you're picturing once they hit the lava!" Everyone laughed, and Andrew flushed, grinning at them all, with a slight shrug. "Let's keep it simple, elegant."

The problem with simple and elegant, was, of course, that it left the issue of Davis and Mitchell somewhat unsettled, especially since April wouldn't be there to levy more charges or argue for the offense, but she reasoned, no one had much listened to her the first time anyway. Accordingly, Mark and April had also given the nod to Caeide to deal with Davis and Mitchell however she saw fit. They didn't like it; it wasn't how they operated, no matter how much April had envisioned revenge after the event; they saw her reasoning, though, and accepted that: these two had hurt family, albeit unknowingly; it couldn't be allowed, it gave people ideas; part of what kept the Clan safe was that it was well known that you simply didn't mess with any of them if you didn't want the whole Clan down on you in a very permanent way. And as Andrew had to point out, it was even somewhat traditional, seeing as how the same unspecified method had been used to eliminate two men who had caused harm to a past Clan member, in fact, the woman from whom Caeide had inherited Haven. Mark decided that was a story he wanted to hear sometime, but now was perhaps not the time.

So in the end, it was kept simple. A message to Mr. Waverly from April, asking for a meeting. Once Waverly had agreed to a time, a message was sent to Napoleon and Illya, April never knew how it was delivered, informing them of that meeting, requesting their presence, as a personal and professional favor to her.

So on the morning of the arranged meeting, Mr. Waverly was surprised by the announcement by his assistant that his Number One and Number Two agents were here for the meeting. He waved them in, but with a frown, "Gentlemen, I don't recall inviting you to a meeting."

"Sir, it is our understanding that Miss Dancer requested our presence." He frowned again, but allowed them to stay. When the call from Miss Dancer on Channel D was announced, he started; he'd expected her in person, not by communicator! He put it on speaker and sat back with his pipe. None of them knew quite what to expect. Napoleon and Illya had been shocked and saddened to hear of the death of their friend and colleague, Mark Slate. They were not surprised to hear April hadn't taken it well; they knew how close the partners were. They'd received none of the messages April had left for them, but had gotten hold of the formal report and the medical reports, so they knew of the alleged trauma, the accusations by April against Davis and Mitchell, their fervent denials.

"Good morning, Mr. Waverly. Napoleon, Illya, are you there as well?" a calm, slightly detached but very familiar voice came over the speaker.

"We are all here, Miss Dancer. I was expecting you to return today for this meeting, and for your medical evaluation. Have you been delayed?"

"You might say that, sir. First things first though. Napoleon, Illya, have you read my report?"

Mr Waverly interjected, "Your report is a closed file, Miss Dancer, classified, surely you know that."

A slight laugh, "Yes, Sir, I do. Napoleon, Illya??"

"Yes, April, we've read it," Napoleon answered, receiving a fierce glare from his superior, which he ignored. 

"Then you need to know this, the reason for what Mitchell and Davis did; I realize it is insane, but then, you must realize also, that they ARE quite mad." She told them of what she'd heard from the two men, their lunatic plan. "So you need to beware. I don't know how long they might wait before they make a try at Illya; they may not, considering how their first attempt went, but they might be the persistent types." She knew Mitchell and Davis would no longer be a threat, once Caeide took action, but it would have looked suspicious if she hadn't voiced her warning, after how much she had stressed it during the days after the incident, and those two just might make a try before Caeide put her plan into play.

Her voice was still rather remote, and the three men cast worrying looks at each other. Napoleon and Illya were thinking about what they knew about the Dancer/Slate team, and what they knew about Mitchell and Davis. If they'd had to chose one of the two teams watching their backs, they knew which it would have been. They knew where their trust lay, but they also knew trauma could cause some strange effects.

"Miss Dancer, I need you to return immediately. The medical team will be waiting; you and I will discuss your accusations in more detail, but it needs to be in person. I am sure Mr. Solo and Mr. Kuryakin will take due note of your warning. How soon can you be here?"

"Oh, I won't be coming back, Sir. I've given it a great deal of thought, and my place isn't there, not anymore. I'll be destroying my communicator once this call is finished, so no one will find it and be able to use it, of course, and I left my weapon in my office, in the desk; you'll find it there."

He tried to argue with her, she made a point of not responding to any of his arguments, keeping in mind their plan to keep it simple. "Miss Dancer! Are you still at the retreat complex? I can have Mr. Solo and Mr. Kuryakin come pick you up, you can discuss your fears with them in person." He was getting quite concerned, as were the two senior agents.

"Sir, I left the complex some time ago, days, maybe weeks, I'm not sure," her voice purposely getting more detached, almost misty. "And I really can't talk anymore, I need to be on my way. Mark is waiting, you see. It's just not polite, to keep your partner waiting. I've kept him waiting far too long as it is." With that, she shut down the communicator, and with a smile, handed it to Mark, who crushed it under a paperweight on hand just for that purpose.

"Well, dramatic enough, Darling?"

"I'd think so, luv!"

In the office of Alexander Waverly, UNCLE Headquarters, New York, stunned silence.

****

Napoleon and Illya were particularly perturbed now at the loss of the last half of the Dancer/Slate team; they had been especially fond of the two young people. Even now, Illya was inclined to believe what she'd said about Mitchell and Davis, enough he started an independent investigation; he only told Napoleon who was in favor of it, though a bit more doubtful, remembering that vague tone in April's voice on that last call.

Even that came to nothing when three months later both Mitchell and Davis died of food poisoning during a stakeout; even Mr. Waverly seemed satisfied with the report that it was just that, an unfortunate incident, after an autopsy cited tainted mushrooms on a steak sandwich, it appeared, and positive identification was made, case closed, and forgotten, other than an agency memo about the advisability of avoiding mushrooms in the future.

Illya did not mention that he was suspicious of that whole call, not even to his partner. He didn't want to cause a stir if his idea turned out to be accurate. If April was still alive, there was as much a possibility she was disappearing on purpose, not just that Thrush had snatched her, and if so, she would have had her reasons. He started gently poking around the edges, and wasn't too terribly surprised on an independent assignment to see a young girl, a child really, smiling at him, handing him a folded slip of paper, with instructions to follow if he wanted to meet 'his Auntie', but to bring an umbrella, in case of showers. He remembered with a faint sad smile that Mark used to call her his April Showers sometimes.

Early that evening, in a public park, near the zoo, adjacent to, of all things, a small cemetery, he sat on a bench, feeding the pigeons, as directed. Soon a lithe form in jeans and baggy shirt, complete with slouched denim hat approached from behind the bench and settled at the other end.

"Hello, Darling. Heard you've been asking questions. I'd really rather you wouldn't, you know, now that things have settled down so nicely," came a warm very familiar voice.

He closed his eyes in relief and took a deep breath. "I had thought that was perhaps the case, but I wanted to be sure it was of your own volition, not Thrush taking a hand," remembering all the times one of them had disappeared into a Thrush Satrap. "How are you, April?"

A warm gurgle of laughter drew him, and she said, "turn and see, Illya Darling." He turned eagerly to his side to greet the lovely auburn haired young woman, and when she stood to give him a hug, he met her arms gladly if a bit shyly. 

"Well, Illya, I don't particularly want an 'ug, but don't I at least merit a 'andshake?" an equally familiar voice, but this one totally and shockingly unexpected. He whirled to see a thin blond figure in jeans and white button front shirt and denim jacket, similar slouched hat. His familiar grin, albeit a somewhat rueful version, filled his face, which featured a couple of new scars, and his eyes were friendly and warm. Illya felt a bit dizzy, for a moment almost thinking he was facing a ghost, then he remembered the last bit of that phone call.

"You really were waiting for her!"

"Right beside, all the time."

At April's urging, they moved to a small cafe, where she had it on Clan authority they'd be safe from overlooking of any nature, into a small private room. There they enjoyed a comfortable meal and shared what they could of their story. Illya took the precaution of easing certain remembrances into the conversation, certain oh so casual inquiries, enough that after an amused exchange of looks between April and Mark, Mark laughed and said, "Enough, Illya, don't you think you've proven it to yourself by now? Surely no one else knew about that affair in the Carpathians; we decided between us not to even file a report, remember?" Illya blushed, and with a shy smile, acknowledged that, yes, he'd been doing just one final test. April laughed, "Well, we don't blame you for that."

Illya told them of the end of Mitchell and Davis; neither seemed surprised, though they seemed unfamiliar with any details. Mark's face grew distant and cold, "Ya can't expect me to mourn those two; they left me to the Delft Satrap, no, they purposely dropped me into their 'ands." he swallowed deeply and looked up to meet Illya's understanding blue eyes. Illya had his own experiences with one of the mentors of that Satrap, and he had a good idea what Mark had endured.

"How long . . ." he started to ask in a harsh voice, then broke off, knowing Mark probably didn't want to be reminded or talk about it.

"Only a few 'ours before my rescuers arrived, still more than long enough." was the solemn answer, and Mark's eyes were dark and shadowed with the memory. April reached out to lay her hand over his on the table, squeezing gently, and he started, blinked rapidly, looking up at her and smiling gently, "Thanks, luv. Illya, April was telling the truth, you know, they 'ad their plans for you and Napoleon too. And they wouldn't 'ave stopped there; pair of bloody sociopaths with delusions of grandeur, to my mind."

"Am I allowed to tell Napoleon? I assume Mr. Waverly is out of the question. I do know he took your 'deaths' much to heart."

"You may tell them if, and only if, you do it exactly as we say," April told him seriously, then with a mischievious grin crossing her face. "In fact, that's why we chose today for the meet, you know."

Illya frowned, then his eyes widened and his brows shot upward, "October 31st!"

"Yes, if I remember, we've seen some strange and wondrous things on Halloween, between the four of us, and according to him, so has Mr. Waverly. So, you can tell each of them, Napoleon, and Mr. Waverly, if you choose, that you met us, the evening of October 31st, across from a small cemetery in Lyon. That we were together and happy; together and well content to be so, and that we sent warm and affectionate greetings to each of you."

Mark added, "You might want to leave out the 'aving dinner together part," with a laugh. "That might be a bit too much for them!" They all laughed. 

At the end of the evening, when they parted, Illya paused, hesitated and looked over at this two friends. "Will you ever return? Will I see you again?"

April sighed, "Return? I doubt it, though life has shown me that more things are possible than I'd have thought. See us again? That is more likely. After all, we are friends," with a sincere smile.

"And you are content, both of you?" he felt he had to ask, knowing that they had left behind their entire lives, their identities. The two looked at each other, Mark touching her gently on the cheek, her leaning into his hand.

"Well content, Illya. What we gave up, is nothing compared to what we have," and she reached down to gently caress the slighest mound of her abdomen.

Illya nodded, with an understanding smile, yes, he'd noticed her figure was not quite as slender as it had been, "perhaps I could be an honorary godparent?"

"Wouldn't 'ave it any other way, mate!" Mark smiled in return, and they turned and walked away, into the shadows.

***

It was several days after the meeting between Illya and the two ex-agents when he got his opportunity. Mr. Waverly was in a somber and introspective mood, it seems, when Napoleon and Illya came in to make their report. It was early evening, they were all tired and, Illya thought, more than a little depressed at the events of the past few months. He waited while desultory conversation passed back and forth, and they sipped the really fine old brandy Waverly had offered them. He let himself look off into the air, not responding to their comments directed at him, and then, seemingly caught himself, looked at them apologetically.

"I am sorry. I had something a bit, well, odd, happen last week, and it is still on my mind. I would have though I was, well, mistaken," he looked down with a slight frown, "until I realized it was October 31st, and we have all had some very strange things happen on that date, have we not?" He waited, knowing Napoleon, at least, would urge him to talk.

They both urged him to continue; both were very willing for anything to take their minds off the somber things they'd been considering. He frowned again, and looked at them somewhat defiantly, as if daring them to question him, to doubt him. "I was in Lyon, just finishing up with that tailing job on Merton, when I thought I spotted," he paused, hesitated, then continued, "someone, just a glimpse, but enough to get my attention. I crossed the street, and found myself outside a small cemetery, next to a little park, with benches."

He looked over at them, an odd look of wistful vulnerability on his usually impassive face. "They were there, both of them. They looked the same, and yet different, somehow. They were smiling at me, she told me it was alright, that they were together and happy, they were together and well content to be so. They told me we shouldn't worry or have regrets about them. He reminded me of that affair in the Carpathians, Napoleon, you remember, and told me that at the time he'd thought that was the strangest thing he'd be likely to ever encounter. Then he laughed and said "I can't rightly say that anymore, now can I, mate?" They left me there and I lost sight of them just a few feet away as they headed down the path. They just were not there anymore." And he looked at them with bewildered eyes.

They both looked at him, then at each other, not wanting to ask the question, afraid of the confirmation of where their thoughts had led them. "Who, Mr. Kuryakin, who were they, you didn't say." "I'm sorry, sir, I thought I had. Mark and April, sir, Mr. Slate and Miss Dancer."


End file.
